The Devil Incarnate
by jeromevaleska
Summary: You're Miriam Mead's daughter, and you two have a complicated relationship to say the least. You think she's more than a little bonkers with her religious beliefs, and no matter how much she has tried to make you follow the same dark path, it's in vain. But when Miriam welcomes Michael into your home, you start to question everything and you just might become a believer.
1. The Devil Incarnate

The second you laid your eyes on him, you knew he was trouble. You could sense it. You could feel it. He exuded this dark, sinful aura. You couldn't quite explain it, but you knew nothing good would come from him being here.

There was something about those mysterious, knowing eyes that lingered on yours for far too long, something about the way his lips would curve into a vile little smirk, something about the way the air would shift in the room whenever he entered. There was something different about him. There was something strange; something about him that didn't sit well with you.

"I found him! I found the chosen one!" Miriam, your mother exclaimed from downstairs. You were studying in your room, minding your own business when you heard her unusually cheery voice.

"What? What are you talking about? Mom, you sound crazy!" you opened the door to your room and shouted back, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

"Come out here and see for yourself! Seeing is believing!" Miriam replied with a laugh. She hadn't sounded this excited in God knows how long, but still you weren't having it.

"Mom, I have to study," you whined in protest.

"Get out here! Come on! Be friendly and introduce yourself to our new guest!" Miriam continued, her voice loud and scratchy as she spoke to you from the kitchen.

You uttered a dramatic sigh and stood up from the chair at your desk where you were studying. You started heading downstairs, having to drag your feet.

"Mom, it better not be another black goat!" you called out as you made your way downstairs. You were expecting to hear a bleat from a goat but once you entered the kitchen, you got more than you bargained for. You stopped in your tracks the moment your feet hit the floor.

"I found him! I found him! Our savior! He's what we've all been waiting for!" Miriam raved, the biggest grin on her face that you had ever seen.

Miriam was alongside a tall man with strawberry blonde hair and glimmering blue eyes you couldn't help but get lost in. There was a smug look on his face, like he was taking pride in knowing something you didn't.

"Hi," he started, "I'm Michael Langdon."

"Hi," you said, your eyes met his intense gaze and you swallowed a nervous gulp. He was a beauty alright, practically sculpted by the gods themselves. He had a jawline for days. It took you aback and immediately, your interest was somewhat piqued.

Michael stretched his hand out to you, his eyes never leaving yours, which made you all the more nervous, there was a dangerous glint to them that caused your heart to skip a beat. You introduced yourself to Michael and shook his hand. Your blood ran cold the moment you did.

A wave of dread washed over you and your heart started beating at an unforgiving rate all of a sudden, a rock settling in the pit of your stomach. Then it dawned on you that there was something very wrong about this man. You pulled your hand away in an instant, almost like you had just been burned. You tried playing it off like it was nothing but Michael narrowed his eyes at you, they held a hint of mockery to them, it was almost as if he was staring straight through your very soul. You tried for something resembling a smile but it felt a lot more like a grimace.

His lips were parted and it looked like something unspoken was on the tip of his tongue but he didn't dare say what he was thinking. What appeared to be a fake smile formed on his face and silence stretched on for a moment too long before you looked back at your mother with a serious expression, your lips pressed tightly together.

"Mother, a word?" you asked, raising your brows.

"What is it, now?" Miriam heaved a disappointed sigh and you led her to the hallway, away from Michael.

"What did I tell you about bringing home strays?" you asked.

"This one is not a stray. This is the one! You won't believe what I've seen! We held this black mass and I brought him a sacrifice. The devil himself appeared before Michael! It was beautiful, life-changing! I could hear my heart singing, and the crows! It would have made you a believer, I'm sure," Miriam babbled, going on and on, she was delirious at this point. "Maybe if you would have attended black mass like I've told you, we wouldn't be having this discussion."

"That doesn't make any sense, whatsoever. Good God, Mom, this has to stop," you said, shaking your head.

"Hey, what did I say about using that kind of language?" Miriam snapped, pointing at you with a glare. "Will you just trust me on this? I know what I'm doing! We should be celebrating! This one is special. He is. You're going to see that."

"That's what you said about the last one, who ended up taking my bedroom because he said he liked the way it smelled, which you allowed, telling me it would all be worth it, that he'd be the one to save us. And we all remember how that ended. He killed my cat!" you said, fighting back the urge to cringe. You'll never forget that you lost your furball to that psychopath.

"This one isn't going to take your room. I wouldn't want you two getting frisky in there. I'm well aware of his good looks, you know. He's around your age and I don't want you getting any ideas thinking you can seduce him," Miriam said in a solemn tone. "And we don't have a cat this time around so we'll be fine!"

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. "Trust me, I'm not going to jump his bones. Satanists aren't really my type. I just think you're making a mistake here."

"You need to learn to have some faith in our Dark Lord. I'm really not liking your tone, young lady," Miriam continued to scold you.

"When I shook his hand, something didn't feel right," you told her. You started to feel queasy and sick to your stomach, like a sense of impending doom.

"Oh please, did God tell you that?" Miriam waved you off, crossing her arms over her chest, a snarl on her face.

"No, I'm just getting a bad feeling. I think you should return him to where he came from," you said bluntly.

"He was living in that murder house! His family didn't want him, his mother even tried to kill him! He can have a home here, a bed to sleep in, where he can fully be himself, where he can embrace his destiny!" Miriam persisted.

"The murder house? That's where he was living?" you asked, in disbelief.

Before you were able to continue your conversation, Michael entered the hallway, his hands behind his back, looking complacent.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, raising his brows.

"Yes you are, I'm talking to my mother right now," you answered frankly.

"Oh don't be rude, dear! You're fine, Michael, make yourself at home. I'll be right there to prepare you a delicious dinner," Miriam replied, her voice much higher when she spoke to him.

"Thank you, Ms. Mead," he said, looking back at her with a smile, and then his eyes landed on yours, that smug smirk on his face again before he took his leave.

"What are you going to cook for him? Clam chowder with half a cup of rat poisoning?" you predicted, a skeptical look on your face.

"Stop. You will accept him in this house and into your life. He's not going anywhere. He's going to be the one to save us all, so you better clean up your act, missy," she scolded you and then walked off to attend to Michael.

You and Miriam had a complicated relationship. You two weren't exactly close to put things lightly and she was always trying to force her religious beliefs down your throat, much to your dismay. She was obsessed with making you see the 'light' or more like the darkness of her way of life. You didn't share her beliefs, yet she was very persistent about trying to convert you, make you a believer, but you could never get into it. She had shrines all over the house dedicated to Satan, in every room (except yours, even though she pushed heavily for it), and that didn't help either, if anything it made you pull away even more so. You thought she was out of her mind, welcoming all these dark spirits and evil doers in her life so freely and proudly. You knew that side of the world wasn't something to be messed with. You wanted to be a normal girl living a normal life but your mother was making that look like it was going to be impossible.

You weren't an angel yourself, by no means, but sacrificing innocent lives to the dark lord and performing incantations with goat heads was extreme to say the least. You hoped her obsessions would dwindle someday or at least she would stop pestering you about attending her church, but eventually you came to terms with the fact that she was never going to change, and you had to accept that.

But you didn't have to accept Michael.

"Dear, come help me with dinner!" Miriam called you from the hallway and reluctantly you returned to the kitchen, your patience running thin. You were starting to wonder where Miriam left that rat poisoning, maybe you could poison them both, kill two birds with one stone.

You helped Miriam cook up a beef stew and Michael seemed to notice that you were chopping up those vegetables quite violently. You found that his eyes would linger on yours when he thought you didn't notice but you caught on quickly. His piercing gaze wouldn't leave you alone and it was started to frustrate you. There was something inviting about them, like he was almost trying to seduce you without words or even without really doing anything. You would watch him from the corner of your eye, still trying to figure him out.

Goddamn those bedroom eyes. He was certainly nice to look at, but he was getting on your nerves and he just got here. You couldn't imagine what living with him was going to be like.

Dinner was finally served, thanks to your hard work. Miriam and Michael were talking up a storm almost the entire time about God knows what, you were trying to block both of them out to the best of your ability but they were so loud. You had to bite your tongue not to say anything. He was acting like he was a part of this family already, and once again, that only served to irritate you.

You carried the pot of beef stew over to the table and placed it down in the center. You brought everyone's bowls and spoons over as well because Miriam insisted that you show some manners. Then you poured them both glasses of cold water. Miriam and Michael were on the opposite sides of the table while you sat at the front end.

"It's time to say grace. Let's all join hands," Miriam instructed, reaching her hand over to yours.

"Mom, for the hundredth time, no thank you," you refused and glanced at her with a glare before you began eating. Miriam looked back at you with a frown and shook her head in disappointment.

"Michael, give me yours," Miriam said and Michael linked his fingers with hers, shutting their eyes. They began praying together, almost in unison, thanking the Dark Lord for their meals while you sat there awkwardly eating your food in silence. It was going to be a long day.

When they were finished praying, they began eating the stew.

"So Michael, Mom told me that she found you at the murder house. What was living there like?" you asked and tilted your head to the side,, your tone could be considered what some people call bitchy.

Michael seemed a little taken aback by your bold question and he looked uncomfortable.

"Well it wasn't exactly ideal, it didn't really feel like home," Michael answered.

"Hey, where are your manners? That's not very polite!" Miriam told you with a frown.

"I'm just trying to get to know him!" you defended yourself.

"I'm sorry about her, Michael. She's had a rough day, don't mind her," Miriam said, making up excuses for you.

"It's alright. I'm glad to be here. I owe you so much for welcoming me into your home and being so good to me," Michael started, getting all sentimental.

"You don't have to thank me. I just did what I knew was right, and I'm glad I did. I believe in you Michael, you have made me so proud. You've shown me the way and I can't thank you enough for that," Miriam said, placing a hand over her chest.

"Thank you, Ms. Mead. I'm getting the feeling that someone doesn't want me around," Michael said somewhat coyly, side-eyeing you.

"She'll adjust. She always does. Just give her some time, get to know each other, make her feel comfortable," Miriam explained, and you noticed that she was side-eyeing you too.

"I'm right here. You two can stop acting like I'm not," you said bitterly.

"Why are you being so rude? I taught you better than that, I know I did," Miriam said, glaring at you.

"I'm just trying to get to know our new guest," you said, looking back at Michael with a fake smile.

"Well there's no need to interrogate him," Miriam barked.

"I'll try to get to know him more then. What were your parents like? Were they living in the murder house too?" you asked, stuffing a mouthful of the stew afterwards.

"Yeah, they lived there. I decided it wasn't the place for me," Michael said, a pensive expression on his face. "This place feels a lot more like home," he added, a smile playing on his lips.

"And he's here to stay. That's final," Miriam assured, shooting daggers at you but smiling at Michael.

"Well if you think I'm going to cook you a meal every day, you're wrong," you mumbled to yourself.

"He doesn't have to lift a finger because I'll be the one to cook for him! He needs his beauty rest and he doesn't need to focus on trivial things," Miriam said.

"That's so kind of you Ms. Mead," Michael smiled, in awe.

"Oh please, call me Miriam," Miriam said with a laugh.

"So he just gets to freeload off of us?" you asked, your brows arched.

"It's not freeloading. He's doing us a favor by staying here. We are the ones that need to give to him. He's the chosen one, his presence is a gift," Miriam explained, giving Michael a boost up.

"We need to give to him? Give him what exactly?" you questioned.

"Our love, our support, whatever he needs we have to give to him," Miriam stressed.

"You don't have to do all that for me, just letting me stay here is enough," Michael said through a smile.

"I insist," Miriam started but then she added, "we insist."

"Speak for yourself, mother," you mumbled under your breath.

"I'm speaking for you too because you forgot your manners, as your mother I can do that," Miriam corrected.

"You'd think as your daughter I would have a say in who comes and goes here but apparently not," you complained, talking back to your mother.

"Hey, that's your mother, you shouldn't talk to her like that," Michael chided.

"You don't know what living with her is like and you just got here, so don't tell me how to talk to her," you argued.

"Thank you, Michael!" Miriam sang in agreement.

You shoved one last spoonful of the stew in your mouth before you spoke, "And I'm all done. I'm going to be in my room praying to God Almighty to have some mercy on me. I really need some faith to help me go on when this is my life."

"Hey, we do not pray to Him in this house! Don't you dare do that, young lady! I simply forbid it," Miriam yelled out, but you had already walked off and entered the solace of your room, slamming the door behind you.

Michael's eyes widened, giving Miriam a 'yikes' look while she shook her head in disappointment. He found the whole situation to be amusing.

Later that day, much to your dismay, Michael was showed to the room he would be staying at. She had given him a tour right after dinner and now he was to make himself at home. Your arms were crossed and you were visibly upset when you realized the very room he would be staying at. It was your father's. Your mother's second husband. How dare she give him what used to be your father's room. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve to stay there. You tried pulling her aside, hoping she would reconsider her decision but she simply dismissed everything you said about it, which only made you angrier and more displeased with Michael's staying here. You were sure nothing good would come from it.

"This is where you'll be staying, Michael. Now, I only have one rule, and the rule is that you two can't sleep together in the same room. Fornication of any kind is completely off limits, so no sneaking off to see each other. That's mainly towards you, missy," Miriam said, pointing at you. "This one has slept with people she knew I disapproved of just to spite me. Be very wary of her, she's a temptress," she told Michael, who let out a puff of laughter.

You stared back at her in disgust that she would say something like that in front of Michael.

"Don't you think that's a little too much information, Mother?" you asked, gritting your teeth angrily.

"I just thought that I should warn him, that's all, you can be trouble," Miriam said, clasping her hands together.

"I'll keep that in mind," Michael assured.

"Now, you should get some rest, Michael. We both have to be up bright and early for church tomorrow," Miriam reminded him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she smiled at him.

"Will you be joining us?" Michael asked, turning to you with a curious look in his eye, like he was actually interested if you would be there or not.

"No thank you, there's no way in hell I'm going there," you said bluntly.

"I've been trying to get her to go for years now, Michael, it's a lost cause. But the invitation will always be out and everyone would welcome you with open arms, so always remember you have a family there," Miriam maintained, but it didn't matter.

"I don't need another reminder, mother," you said in a vexed tone.

"I feel like I have to repeat myself because I don't think you're really hearing me sometimes," Miriam started. That was true, you were already tuning her out now.

"Well, now that you've gotten the grand tour. I'm off to bed. Enjoy your stay, Michael," you told him with a faux smile before you walked off.

As you made your way back to your room, you could hear Michael and Miriam talking about you. You stopped to listen.

"I don't mean to be a burden. If my being here is going to upset her, maybe it's not the best idea that I stay," Michael whispered.

"No, no, don't listen to her. She'll get over it. I am not letting you go, Michael, and you are not going back to that damned house not if I have anything to say about it," Miriam reassured Michael, caressing his shoulder. "Trust me, everything is going to work out."

"Okay, I trust you," Michael answered with a nod of his head.

You sighed before you left to your room and closed your door quietly.

You were lying down on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying with everything you could to fall asleep. You dragged your hands down the sides of your face and turned to your side. The moon was high above the sky and a ray of pale moonlight was poking through your window. Squinting, you groaned again, and flipped over to lay on your other side. You stared at the wall, not even bothering to close your eyes. You were absolutely restless and you couldn't settle with just lying still. You were sure it had been over an hour since you've been tossing and turning, and still not even a wink of sleep. Nothing.

It was because of Michael. You tried denying it, but you could only do so for so long. You didn't feel comfortable with him living here. You knew there was something very evil in him, a great darkness lurking in his very presence. Your mind flashed back to the moment you shook his hand, the moment you locked eyes with him. There was something off, something you felt that just wasn't right about him.

Your mother was convinced he was the one, that he was special, but for what exactly? You couldn't help but wonder. Something had to be done. You had to do something. He didn't belong here, and you didn't want him getting comfortable in your own home, this was supposed to be your safe place, and now here you were, fearing for your safety. Minutes passed and you soon grew impatient. Your gut instinct was telling you something was wrong, very very wrong.

You stood up from your bed and left your room, entering the kitchen. No one was around. It was time to make your move.

You snatched a kitchen knife from the knife stand and tip toed over to what was now Michael's room. A spike of unease flitted through you but you were determined to go through with this. Miriam was a light sleeper so you knew you had to be as silent as possible. You wouldn't want her waking up and catch what you were about to do. No, that wouldn't turn out so well for you.

Quietly, you opened the door to the room, and there he was. Michael was stretched out atop your father's bed, looking far too much at home. He was facing the wall in front of him. You proceeded further inside, cautiously, careful not to make a sound. You stepped closer to the foot of the bed, gripping on the handle of the knife tightly. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving up and down. Your heart was beating heavily in your chest. There was a darkness that was clinging to this room now, suddenly, the air felt thick and suffocating. A series of shivers coursed through your body and your spine tensed. You drew in a sharp breath, clenching your teeth to avoid the quiver of your jaw.

You could do this. You were going to do this.

You stood behind him at the side of the bed, raising your knife.

You swallowed a thick gulp, but then something knocked you back.

Something knocked you back and the next thing you knew your body was forced against the wall. The knife was no longer in your hand, it practically flew away and to your surprise, it was stuck inside the wall, just inches away from your face. You gasped sharply in response, your breath hitching. You lifted your head, eyes darting toward the sound of footsteps approaching out of pure instinct.

Then you heard the rumble of laughter. Michael sauntered towards you with elegant and fluid movements, crossing the room where you stood, a wicked little smirk on his face, looking all too pleased with himself.

"My, my. Care to explain what you're doing here?" Michael asked, tilting his head to the side, his eyes narrowed.

"You're not supposed to be here," you whispered, scowling at him as your cheeks flushed. You felt your pulse speed up when he angled his body above and over yours. His arms slid around your waist quickly and you didn't even have the leverage to do anything about it. You pushed against him, but he shifted and wrenched one of your arms up high on your spine.

"You don't waste any time, do you? You get straight to the point. When you set your mind to something, you do it, no questions asked. You're not afraid to get your hands dirty. That can be a good thing, if given the right opportunity, but it can also be a weakness, and this case, I think you moved a little too fast," Michael said, his voice calm and calculating, and at the same time it sounded like he was taunting you.

His chest was pressed tightly against your side. He had one of his arms secured around your torso and the other still had your wrist pinned up and between your shoulder blades. His breath was hot against your cheek and he used his muscular frame to keep you against the wall.

"Let go of me," you said, raising your voice, feeling a burst of anger.

"Are you going to behave?" he teased in a raspy tone.

"Just let me go," you demanded hoarsely.

"Why don't you start by explaining what was going through your pretty little head just now?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

You struggled, trying to push back against him but to no avail, he was able to keep you in place. You turned your head and looked over your shoulder as best as you could to see him, and you caught sight of those startlingly blue eyes. This man and proximity was a troublesome combination for you. Perhaps it was just the man in general that was trouble really.

"I don't want you here. I don't like the way this place feels when you're around," you managed, your voice nearly failing you. As much as you didn't want to admit it, you were intimidated and more than a little frightened at this point.

"You may think you're clever but you're not the first one who has attempted a stunt like that. I saw it coming a mile away. I knew you were thinking it before you even made the decision to go through with it," Michael told you in a whisper, his lips stretching into a wider smirk. He was amused with your failed attempt, and it only made you feel all the more pathetic for even trying. He turned you back around so you were facing him now, allowing your arms to fall limply to your sides.

"What are you?" you questioned. You exhaled a breath you didn't know you had been holding.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Michael scoffed. You felt Michael press himself closer, placing his hand lightly on your shoulder. Long fingers began to rub at your muscles, working small circles into your tense neck and upper arms. You both engaged in a staring contest. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You could hear your own breaths thundering through your ears, could differentiate each individual beat of your heart. The temperature of the room seemed to skyrocket and there was a tension that stretched on for far too long between you two. You looked straight at him, boldly, trying to play it off like you weren't apprehensive.

"You can't answer a question with another question," you spat. You couldn't help but shiver when his long fingers starting toying with the ribbon on your grey blouse.

Michael started humming to himself as he continued to use his body weight to hold you still, between him and the wall. "Patience is a virtue. You're gonna have to wait and see, stay along for the ride."

"You're in my dad's room, and I want you out," you blurted out. The fact that he was here left a bitter taste in your mouth. This very room was a reminder of your dad who had met an untimely end when he was poisoned by Miriam, and you would be lying if you said you didn't still feel any resentment towards her for that.

He chuckled darkly at that. "You were daddy's little girl weren't you?"

"Shut up," you said, fuming.

"Oh, why do I sense that you're just full of surprises? Maybe ones even Daddy didn't approve of?" Michael asked, speaking in a honeyed voice. His fingers pulled away from your blouse, making a tsk tsk sound.

"I said shut the fuck up," you repeated angrily.

"I'm also sensing Mommy issues, to an extreme degree. The little girl who doesn't share her mother's beliefs, who feels like she's stuck with her because she doesn't have her daddy to lean on anymore. That's a recipe for disaster," Michael teased, trivializing your situation.

"You don't know shit, okay? You don't know shit about me or my life," you cursed, your eyes burning with anger.

"How do you think your mother would feel about what you just tried to do? I don't think she would be very pleased if she knew, it would sure be a shame if somebody told her," Michael trailed off, his face was only inches away from yours and you could feel his breath hit your lips.

"You're not going to tell her shit. She doesn't need to know about this," you hissed, trying to lean back but there was hardly any space for you to do so.

"I'd hate to leave her in the dark. She's been so kind to me, it would be the right thing to do," Michael said, his tone full of mockery.

"There's nothing right about you. When you're around, the air in the room shifts, it's like there's this aura of darkness surrounds you, it follows you wherever you go," you explained, and you could feel that sinking feeling in your chest even now.

"You're perceptive, aren't you? Though, maybe you should take a long, hard look in the mirror, because I could say the same about you," Michael shot back.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, nearly stumbling on your words.

"I feel it around you too, this true darkness. You're aware of it, but you're denying it, you're fighting it. Why? Are you scared of it? Are you afraid of what might happen if you let it take control?" Michael asked, and you hated the way his voice sent tingles down your spine. "I want to learn more. I think I like this side of you. I find a challenge to be exciting, it gives me something to look forward to."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not – I'm not anything like that," you murmured.

"You came in here with a knife, trying to kill me. I think that speaks for itself," Michael explained, nodding his head towards the knife.

"I needed to see for myself if what my mother was saying was true," you admitted.

"And were your questions answered?" he asked, curious.

"I don't know. I don't know anything. I just know you don't belong here. You've manipulated my mother into letting you stay. You're a charmer, but that charm's not going to work on me," you stated boldly.

"I think she would beg to differ. She wants me here, so you're going to be seeing a lot more of me. I think we should agree to be civil with each other, don't you think? It would make everything easier for everyone," Michael said, his words drawled out.

"I don't care to make anything easier for you. I will make sure your stay is as short as possible. You could live on the streets for all I care," you spat cruelly.

"Then I can't make any promises not to tell Ms. Mead about this little predicament we have on our hands. I can't wait to see the look on her face when she hears what you've been up to," Michael threatened. There was a dangerous glint in his eyes as they bore into yours, and his smile predatory. He was a troublemaker, a manipulator, and he was getting on your last nerve.

"How about you just leave? Leave me and my mother alone, return to that house of horrors and never come back," you snarled, staring back into his eyes, challenging him.

"But I've already made myself at home, in your father's room," Michael taunted in a sultry tone. "I can't imagine leaving this nice, warm bed."

"Not for long," you assured.

"Last I checked, you're not supposed to be in here. Your mother thinks you just might seduce me," he chuckled quietly to himself. "So who's the one breaking the rules? I'll just add it to the list of things I have to tell Ms. Mead in our long discussion about you," Michael cooed, taking great satisfaction in tormenting you.

"Fuck off," you glowered at him before pushing him away from you forcefully with both hands. "This isn't over," you whispered, taking your leave.

"Oh, but aren't you forgetting something?" Michael asked, removing the knife from the wall and handing it to you. "I don't believe that belongs in here."

You huffed and snatched the knife out of his hand, exiting the room without saying another word to him.

You didn't know who he was, or what he was, but everything about him screamed misfortune. This was going to be one hell of a ride.


	2. Too Close For Comfort

It had only been a week.

Only a week since Michael moved in and invaded your home.

And every day since then you've had a nightmare. It's not always the same nightmare, the details would change, but it always ended the same, with you feeling utterly hopeless and completely terrified.

This nightmare started with you running. Your breath came out in desperate, ragged gasps, you've never been much of an athlete, you knew this, but still, you tried your hardest, knowing what you will find if you didn't get there in time.

It was pitch black around you, the darkness seeming to smother you. The blackness around you reached out with cold, chilling fingers that wanted to wrap around your throat.

Somehow, in the midst of the darkness, you knew where you were going.

This was all painfully familiar, and it scared you.

Your legs cried out at you to stop, which was strange, because certainly there wasn't supposed to be any physical pain in your dreams, right?

You digressed, opting to continue running, like your life depended on it.

Your mind, usually muddled with different thoughts, different perspectives, was solely on her.

You had to save her.

You didn't know where you were, or even how you got there. Something, however, told you that you had already been here before. The thought did not comfort you in the slightest.

A creeping sensation kept hitting you that you could fall at any moment – fall down a hole into the oblivion and just keep falling, forever.

Your feet echoed off of the ground, stony and uneven underneath you. The sounds bounced back to your ears too close, as if you were in an enclosed corridor, but you knew you weren't, for you could still move your hands outward and not hit a thing.

Thus is the complications of dreams.

Surprisingly, you didn't just stop and tell yourself that this was just a dream, because somewhere, you knew it already. Your rational mind told you to stop running and wake yourself up, but then, that would be giving up, and you didn't want to face what you would find if you didn't hurry up.

In a way, if you told yourself to wake up, it was like quitting. But then again, it was hard to wake up from a dream once you got so far into it. This was what your dreams were usually like – all-encompassing, hard to escape from, and utterly absorbing.

So you ran.

You ran and ran, your legs propelling you forward better than you'd ever imagine they'd hold up. Your sides were burning with the exertion, your head pounding, but still, you told yourself to keep going.

You fell, somehow, in your frenzied running, and skinned your legs along the cobbled stones in your dream. This caused pain to shoot up and down your knees. Your fingers scraped against your knees, feeling the warm blood against your palm. You winced at the unexpected stinging, because this was your subconscious, after all. Why would you be feeling pain?

You dismissed this and got up on wobbly legs, all your nerves were aflame now, but that didn't stop you from stumbling forward.

You didn't know how much longer you ran. It felt like hours, when in reality it was probably only minutes. Your exhausted body had no clue of the difference in time. Here, it all seemed the same, dragging on and on like some sick dirge, announcing your impending failure.

No, no, no. You would not fail again. You couldn't.

You pushed onward, and now you truly were in a corridor. The spacious atmosphere from before narrowed into a stairwell, stony and foreboding on the sides, and claustrophobia choked you.

A smell, pungent and cloying, filled your nostrils with the scent of rust and salt. It was a smell you knew all too well; normally you would think it was from the wound that was now inflicted on your knee, but there was too much, too much blood in the air that blocked the rest of your senses.

You panted and panted, trying to catch your breath but you couldn't. There were suddenly stairs now, appearing out of nowhere, and they led you down, down, down into this pit of what can only be referred to as hell.

Shaky, bloody fingers smoothed along the side of the corridor. They allowed you to feel your way down into the space where you knew what awaited.

Something, further down into the space caught your ear. Faint, but recognizable, a feminine voice shrieked.

Even though the sound was slight, it was almost magnified, due to your lack of vision, your other senses become more acute.

Once the screams reached your ears, you picked up the pace despite the persistent ache in your sore body.

The smell of blood intensified as you went further down, as did the screams. A cackling, maniacal laugh now accompanied it. The sound sent chills down your spine, and sweat dripped down your brow as you raced toward the sounds of chaos.

You pushed yourself faster; you desperately needed to get to the bottom of the endless stairwell. It was indescribable how much you wanted to get to the place where you had failed so many times before. The destination of destruction. The screams were now louder than you had ever heard them, the smell making you sick to your stomach.

Your feet clopped on the steps frantically.

And before you knew it, there it was.

In front of you, almost so abruptly that you smacked right into it, was a heavy, mahogany door. A window was on the front of it, bars upon the glass, but it was too small for anyone to possibly wish of climbing through.

You reached out with a trembling hand and pushed as hard as you could.

The screams, the screams. They wouldn't stop ringing in your ears.

You felt tears prick your eyes as you realized how late you were. And you were actually starting to have a sense of hope.

She laid, in the center of the cellar-like room, blood all around her frame. Her skin was snow white, and she was covered in crimson. Various cuts and bruises were all over her body, some deeper than others, but the result was all the same.

She rasped your name.

Your mother, Miriam, was dying.

You felt tears – tears of frustration, tears of sorrow, tears of failure, fell down your cheeks despite yourself.

You forgot the man that sat in the corner, watching your every move, and you raced over to her, cradling her bloodied form in your hands. Her throat had been cut as well, not a deep cut, but deep enough. Her blood spilled onto your arm as you held her head up. You saw that her wrists had also been slashed. You didn't even want to assess the rest of the damage, you were too beside yourself with grief.

Your fingers stroked her cheek and you buried your head in her hair as you pulled her dying form toward you. You moved your hand to her hair and caressed her locks as your tears soaked her dress.

The man in the corner laughed.

You didn't pay him mind though as your only focus was your mother, she gave a cough and flecks of blood splattered your shirt and her cheeks.

She grew cold in your arms, and you knew that you had failed yet again.

Sorrow overwhelmed you, and you placed her body down on the floor.

"You're never going to be strong enough," the man taunted. He wore a simple black coat and you couldn't make out his facial features, no matter how much you squinted you could never get a read on him.

You rose, spun around to face him, chest heaving. Your mother laid motionless in a growing pool of blood next to you. You clenched your fist, rage fueling you.

With a scream, you charged.

And then you woke up, sweating through your sheets.

Everything was quiet, save for the frantic breaths that escaped from your chest as you were violently pulled from sleep – again. Your throat felt as if it was being burned from the inside out and tears welled at the corners of your eyes. You noticed that your hands were white at the knuckles, gripping viciously at the blankets that covered you. You took several deep breaths to try and steady the pounding of your heart. You couldn't remember the last night you had slept well. That man haunted your dreams and you couldn't help but wonder sometimes if he was really in your head. This had to be connected to Michael. There was no other logical explanation. You only started having these nightmares since his arrival.

Often you would shake off these thoughts and remind yourself that you were strong enough to overcome this. It was simply another bump in the road for you, and over the course of your life, there had been many. Somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that this one was different.

You shot up in bed, hair in wild disarray. Your eyes were as wide as saucers and you breathed heavily, heaving huge gulps of air in your lungs as if you were running out of oxygen. Your eyes flitted all over the dimly lit room for a moment before they averted their gaze.

Somehow, the shooting pangs of exhaustion have transferred from the awful dream to reality, and your legs actually felt tired, as well as the rest of you. Physically, mentally, emotionally, you were wiped out.

You kept your eyes down, watching the blanket instead of risking a look up. You didn't want those horrid images dancing around in your vision.

You leaned back into the pillows, not wanting to view the darkness of the bedroom. It reminded you too much of that corridor, of the panic, of the screams.

The sweat stuck to your body, and caused you to cool down somewhat. But your hands still quivered as they clenched the fabric of the sheets. Your heart still pounded hard, as if you were still running down that God forsaken cobblestone street.

You groaned and turned to bury your face in your pillow, but once you closed your eyes all you could see was her laying there, with her slit throat and blank eyes, staring up at you, almost screaming accusations at you.

You turned on your side, and brought the pillow to your chest, clutching it tightly as you clenched your eyes shut, as if to quell the demons that surrounded you.

Your breath was easier now, but still it was hard to draw the air into your chest.

You could almost hear her in your ear, harshly whispering, "Why didn't you save me?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." you murmured into the softness of the pillow, as if that would make it any better.

The silence deafened you. You could still feel her limp body in your arms – the life draining away. You shuddered and you couldn't wipe the image from your mind. Her face had been so pale, and the blood, the blood was everywhere – a dark shadow pooling on the ground beneath her. Even now you could almost smell the tangy scent of it in the air.

You could do nothing, except hope and pray that it never happened in real life, that this only would haunt you in your dreams.

But if something like that did happen to come around, you wouldn't let it play out like your nightmares usually did. By some weird, twisted strand of fate, if that happened. Then, well, you would do whatever it took to save her. No other option would be acceptable. You couldn't lose both of your parents.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, then scrubbed your fingers through your hair, trying to shake the chill.

Then when you looked back up and opened your eyes, there was Michael, sitting at the edge of the bed, on the empty space next to you.

"Another bad dream, sleepyhead?" Michael asked, his voice smooth and full of faux concern for you.

"What the fuck?" you blurted out and threw your pillow aside.

"Are you having an episode? Should I be worried about your mental state?" Michael asked bluntly, tilting his head to the side curiously.

"Fuck off," you spat. "You're not supposed to be in here."

"Ms. Mead told me to check up on you. You were groaning and grunting in your sleep, and I'm finding it rather difficult to fall asleep when I can hear you loud and clear through these thin walls," he explained.

You swallowed thickly before you answered, "It's because of you. I haven't had one good night's sleep since you started living here. Everything was fine before you showed up."

"Now that's a bit accusatory," Michael said. "That's what you always do, isn't it? You shift the blame on someone else when you're faced with unforeseen circumstances that you don't have the slightest clue to deal with. You have an overwhelming fear of the unknown. It's easier that way, for you, rather than look in the mirror and confront head on that you could be the one at fault."

"Stop talking to me like that, like you know what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling. You don't," you said harshly.

"Maybe if you'd just let me in, maybe I'd care to understand what it is you're feeling," Michael started, leaning forward and lifting your chin up with a finger to make you face him and meet his gaze.

"I don't need to share anything with you. You're an intruder in this house," you said, You narrowed your eyes and gritted your teeth in frustration.

"You don't trust anyone, do you? You think it's safer this way, that no one can hurt you if they can't reach you. Deep down, you're not even sure if you can trust yourself, the thoughts in your head sometimes go astray, wandering to this dark place of uncertainty you try so desperately to keep under control, and you're left with this dull ache in your heart that makes you empty, uncertain, lost," Michael continued, his voice was calm and collected, as if he was explaining a physics theory but with a hint of malice. His dark eyes lowered to your lips as he spoke.

"That's enough," you muttered and grasped his wrist tight in your hand, nearly squeezing it before you pushed it back against him.

"You've got such a short fuse, causes wrinkles you know," Michael stated, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"Get out. I'm fine, you got your answer, now you can leave," you said, pointing at the door with a glare.

"Hmm," Michael made a low sound in the back of his throat, his eyes lingering on yours once more before he slid off the bed.

"And don't come back," you hissed before making yourself comfortable, pulling the blanket over yourself and hugging the pillow.

You heard him chuckle quietly to himself and then he left your room, closing the door behind him. You exhaled loudly and shut your eyes, angrily attempting another go at finding sleep.

You despised him.

Abhorred him, detested him, loathed him—whatever word best describes the horrid feeling filling up your stomach and the roar of noise in your ears. Describes the way your hands curl into fists and your entire being tenses up. Describes the feeling of wanting someone dead.

He was an absolute devil who didn't have one ounce of goodness in him, and you were positive that the entirety of his existence completely consisted of making everyone around him miserable. You wanted less than nothing to do with him – except that was impossible when you two were living under the same roof and he did pretty much everything in his power to thoroughly annoy you.

If you had to describe your relationship with him, the most accurate description you could find would be a 'hate/hate' relationship. Sure, you argued with people before, but nothing remotely akin to the level of tension you felt when you were with that damned intruder. That's what he was. He wormed his way into your safe place, became inseparable from your mother in a matter of days, and the longer he stayed here, the more you wanted him gone. This was your new life now, and you hated it.

Through your childhood, people came and went. You lost your father, you would try to make friends with your neighbors but most of the time they were scared as hell by your mother, people from school would come and go. There was one constant in your life, one that you wished was not there – Michael Langdon. And you just knew he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

He irritated you to no end. Michael would always start it. It was like there was a bubble around you and as soon as you crossed the threshold, he popped the bubble holding you back. Michael would throw a spiteful comment, and you couldn't help but bark one right back. Then Michael would so much as look at you wrong, and you would have him by the collar, snarling.

This living arrangement was most definitely not going to work out.

There was so many things that he would do that would drive you crazy, like he would take incredibly long showers, which had you banging on the door every morning because he left you nothing but cold water every time.

"If you don't get out of that shower in one more minute, so help me God, I will kick that fucking door down!" you shouted as your fist met the door repeatedly. You could hear him humming loudly to himself and acting as if he didn't hear you.

"Hey, would it kill you to have some patience? He can take as long as he needs to, stop throwing a fit about it! Wait your turn!"

And every time Miriam would snap at you, believing you were the problem and that you were the only reason you and Michael couldn't get along. He was always taking his side, putting his needs first, even if it was completely and utterly ridiculous. Such as the time when he said he couldn't make his bed because he was so tired and Miriam made you do it for him, or the time when you were watching television in the living room and Michael said that he couldn't focus studying the Satanic Bible because he could hear the TV from upstairs and it was distracting him. Time and time again, he seemed to strike every nerve in your body, somehow, someway.

Another one of the many things that added to your displeasure was when your best friend at college, Olivia, would come over to study with you and now because of Michael, you two no longer studied. Because she would only do one thing: drool over Michael and ask you a thousand questions about him even though you told her repeatedly that he wasn't worth the trouble.

"Oh what I would do for that man to dick me down," she would say, in a dreamy state. "I can't believe you haven't hopped on that!"

"He's a Satanist. He goes to a Satanic church, studies the Satanic Bible, actively prays to Satan, and my mom thinks he is the spawn of Satan. I'm sorry, did I not say that he's the Devil incarnate?" you said in a sassy tone.

"Yeah, so? I think I'd risk going to hell just to tap that," Olivia giggled.

Your door was a crack open and Michael knocked on the door, peering his head inside.

"Hey, Ms. Mead said Dinner's done," Michael told you.

"Okay," you answered without even looking at him.

"Thank you so much! We'll be right out!" Olivia smiled wide with the most obvious 'I'm so attracted to you' laugh ever.

Michael smiled at your friend before walking off and you could have sworn you saw him wink at her from the corner of your eye.

"Hail Satan," she whispered dreamily to herself, a hand on her cheek as she stared at the door long after he left.

"You are not staying for dinner," you said quickly, a glare on your face.

He took away your safe place, he had all of your mother's love and affection, and now he was turning your friend into some lovestruck idiot who would gladly burn in hell for him. He was ruining your life.

You confided in Miriam about the recurring nightmares you were having and it went as well as you assumed it would.

"What in Satan's name are you talking about? Are you trying to tell me you think you're getting nightmares because of Michael?" Miriam asked, trying to clarify what she was hearing.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. I started getting them the day Michael started living here and ever since then, I haven't been able to sleep," you told her but the distressed look on her face did nothing to encourage you to continue.

"That's crazy talk! You have got to stop with this. I'm serious, it's getting out of hand. If you're getting nightmares, it's because you let God in your head," Miriam explained, pointing at her head. "And what did I tell you about that? Hm?"

"That God only feeds you lies and wants you to be blind to the truth," you quoted her.

"Exactly. You two have to find a way to coexist because I swear I'm about to start pulling my hair out," Miriam said, raising her voice.

"Mom, you don't understand. He makes it so difficult. He's constantly being a pain in my ass, he's rude, entitled, he thinks he can do whatever he wants and get away with it," you started listing everything from the top of your head but it felt like you had only scratched the surface.

"No, don't you start with me, young lady. He has been trying but every single time you shut him down and you make him feel unwelcome here. Enough is enough. I don't want to have to resort to drastic measures," Miriam scolded, making you feel all the more helpless.

You two were having a discussion in the kitchen and when Miriam walked off after the disagreement, you saw Michael sitting at the table with a smug smile on his face, looking directly at you with those devilishly charming eyes.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed before leaving the kitchen.

You were stuck with Michael. There was no way around it. He wasn't going anywhere.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon on a beautiful weekend day when you decided that you were going to the mall. You wanted to shop for clothes because you felt like your wardrobe was lacking and you wanted new things to wear.

"Mom, I'm going to the mall, I'll be back in a few hours or so," you told your mom who had been performing some kind of incantation with Michael in the living room. You threw your purse over your shoulder and grabbed your keys and cellphone.

At first she didn't answer you, she was much too busy chanting something but once you started unlocking the door, Miriam whipped her head toward you.

"Wait, where are you going?" Miriam asked.

"I'm going to the mall, be back later," you grumbled.

"You should take Michael with you, his wardrobe could use an upgrade. He didn't come here with much and maybe you two could bond," Miriam suggested, but you were sure she was more like telling you rather than asking.

"No, he can go himself," you refused, shaking your head in annoyance.

"Oh come on, don't be like that! Michael, would you like to go?" Miriam asked Michael.

"Yeah, I'd be up for that," Michael said, nodding his head in agreement.

"See? Then it's settled, Michael's coming with you," Miriam decided.

"Nope, not gonna happen, I don't think so," you maintained, but Miriam wasn't having it.

"You know what. We'll reach a compromise. I'll come along with, that way I can get Michael whatever he needs and I can make sure you don't cause any trouble, missy," Miriam said, pointing at you.

You sighed dramatically. Just great. It was a lose/lose situation for you.

The three of you headed out to the local mall, and every store that you stepped foot in, you were joined by Miriam and Michael. Miriam insisted that you knew all the best stores and that the mall wasn't really her scene so you had to lead the way. It was like you were with two people who hardly got out of the house, they followed you around everywhere. You picked some things out here and there, and you were grateful if you got so much as a few minutes away from them.

You walked further down the aisle in a clothing store and eyed the expensive garments hung up. There were form fitting dresses crafted with soft fabrics, robes decorated with silk material, winter coats with fur collars, but then something caught your eye that a mannequin was wearing.

It was a little black number with a frilled hem, long sleeves, and a wide V-neck. There was something about the dress that just called out to you and you just had to have it.

You told Miriam that you were going to try it on in the dressing room and Miriam said that she would be waiting in the store until you got back.

You meandered through the store to the fitting rooms located in the back and then entered the first empty stall, closing the door behind you.

You unbuttoned your blouse quickly and lifted it over your head, then tugged your jeans down, setting them upon the bench in front of you. You slipped the black dress on, pulling it down and letting the material fall to your knees. You did a little twirl, swaying side to side with a smile on your face, biting playfully at your lip. The dress was beautiful, you loved it. You tried to zip up the dress from the back but you were unable to reach it.

"Mom, can you come in here and zip me up real quick?" you called out loudly. "Mom?"

You started scrolling through your phone while you waited for your mother to come in, answering some of your texts from your friends.

You heard the door swing open and footsteps approaching you from behind, though your eyes were still focused on your phone.

"Zip this up, please," you said without looking up. You felt fingers immediately zip up your dress upon request.

"I must say, the black suits you, it really brings out your eyes," a voice said, that was definitely not your mother. "It's like you were born to wear that dress."

You lifted your head the moment you heard that voice, a quick breath catching in your lungs. You knew exactly who it belonged to. In the mirror you caught sight of those blue eyes and blonde curls.

Michael stood behind you, eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched as he stared back at your reflection in the mirror, his lips pulling to a smirk. There was a licentious expression on his features that made your cheeks flush despite yourself. He stepped closer, each movement precise and calculated.

You shook your head, as if to clear it.

"What are you doing here?" you asked with a glare.

"I wanted to see how it looked on you for myself, I thought you could use a second opinion," Michael answered, his tone laced with amusement. His eyes were fixated on your body, which were now unmistakably undressing you now, wandering up and down. They were full of shrouded mysteries and luminous beauty.

"I can assure you that wasn't needed," you scoffed.

"I'm not going to bite if that's what you're afraid of," Michael leaned in close, his lips next to your ear.

"I really wish you would just fuck off," you muttered under your breath and you were about to push him away from you, but then his hands went to your waist, pulling you to him. It startled you and so you pressed your hands against his chest to balance yourself, backing him up against the wall. It was a little too close for comfort.

For one agonizingly long moment you stared at each other, your cheeks blazing in embarrassment. You were pressed against him, leaving no space between your bodies. Your breasts were against his chest, hips so close to his groin. From your vantage point, you had an almost perfect view of his lips. They were lush and captivatingly kissable, especially when curled into a smile as they were now. Frankly, you detested him, but found yourself unable to deny his physical appeals. You couldn't help but feel that his pretty face held something ungodly within, something dastardly cruel and malicious.

It wouldn't take much. If you bent down just a bit, if he leaned up, he could capture your lips with his. You could tangle your fingers in his hair and then hook your legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer.

He would taste like honey. The thought only made tension cord through you.

You tried to keep your gaze focused somewhere past his shoulder, away from temptation, you needed to keep yourself from doing something stupid. You were skirting the edge of appropriateness as it was. But then you started staring, his body was fit, muscular – so tempting. Your gaze lingered on his sculpted arms, wishing they would just take hold of you already.

Reason. Caution. Control. You could do this.

When you looked up again, Michael was studying you, head tilted like an inquisitive owl. Shifting your glance to his face, you knew that you had been caught admiring him.

"You know, seeing you up close, in this dress, I can see why they call you a temptress; a femme fatale," he said. He reached out and smoothed an errant lock of your hair back into place, his thumb brushing softly over the sensitive skin of your temple. You were now close enough to hear his breathing. It was hot and heavy.

Your breath caught. You watched his eyes become more and more clouded with desire. Your heart was pounding rapidly and a blush was covering you from your neck to your ears.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly, a smirk forming on his mouth, awaiting a response from you. Your heart crept into your throat, chasing away any snarky comment you might have had for him. He noticed, his eyelids narrowed, his gaze especially dark. The tension between you two rose.

"Cat got your tongue?" Michael taunted in a whisper, low and husky, a dark chuckle escaping his lips.

Warmth swelled in the pit of your stomach, swirling around somewhat unpleasantly. Gradually, you became aware of the affect he was having on you, the heady feeling of being pressed against him.

"No, you're just an asshole," you whispered harshly and you took a shuddering breath as you spat out the words.

"Honestly, if you ask me, you're prettier with your mouth shut," Michael teased, that same damned smirk on his face.

The tips of his fingers started massaging little circles into the covered skin of your back, barely brushing against it before he exposed it by unzipping the zipper attached to your dress, and you fought back the throaty purr that threatened to come pouring from your lips. You could hear his hitched breaths, see the way his eyes searched you, gliding up the length of you until they settled on your lips. He leaned forward, a small movement and you angled your chin up, ready to meet the press of his mouth, waiting for him to close the distance.

Then he stopped. His hand tightened briefly along your thigh before retreating, his gaze shifting as he took a step back.

He leaned forward a few inches to murmur directly into your ear. "I thought you wanted me to fuck off."

You huffed and drew back quickly, creating more distance between you two, needing to stop the building pressure in your body. You felt vulnerable. You hated feeling vulnerable. You let him get too close.

"Yeah, get the fuck out. I have to change," you said, recollecting yourself and then you pushed him toward the door. Michael shrugged, a cocky smirk still gracing his features.

"Looks like you found your voice. Shame," he chuckled to himself before exiting the dressing room.

"Fuck you," you muttered.

You cursed under your breath and you were so embarrassed that you couldn't find it in you to face your reflection.

You were still trying to process what just happened when you heard Miriam call out from outside the room, "How long does it take to try on a damn dress? Buy it or don't! I'm ready to leave!"

"Okay! I'll be right out!" you answered, shaking your head.

You sighed to yourself as you slipped the dress off from your body, a pensive look on your face.

You still felt the possibility of his skin against your lips long after he left.


	3. Forbidden Fruit

You crept into the hallway with a singular mission in mind: get to the kitchen and eat a midnight snack. You couldn't sleep. For days now you had more and more trouble sleeping through the night. Strange dreams that had you waking in a cold sweat and a confused state haunted you almost every night.

Rather than lay staring at the ceiling and agonize over visions you could not explain and rarely remembered upon waking, you would slip from your bed and stay up way too late doing anything to ease your mind. Some nights you would study all day or curl up with a book, others you would head to the garden to relax amongst the flowers and gaze at the stars, tonight you were going to raid the pantry. You had baked brownies earlier in the day and now you were going to stuff your face.

"Trouble sleeping?"

You whipped around at the sound of a man's sultry voice behind you as you skulked through the shadows down the hall. You squinted through the gloom that had settled over the hall, searching for the location of your watcher. After a moment, your eyes settled on the blonde man sitting on the sofa in the living room. A sly smirk curled on his lips and you watched him recline on the red velvet.

"Isn't it past your bed time?" Michael asked, tilting his head curiously.

"Isn't it past _your_ bed time? I thought you needed your beauty sleep," you said sarcastically.

"Turns out I can't sleep either," he answered.

"Did you come to keep me company?" you asked, ambling toward him.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you. Would that be such a crime?" Michael asked, feigning coyness.

"I guess not, maybe you caught me at a good time," you said. A blush filled your cheeks as you came close enough to see he was wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.

"Oh, did I? Well lucky me," Michael replied, his words drawled out. He sunk down further in his seat, his knees falling to the side to reveal the bulge in the front of his boxers.

Your mouth went dry as your eyes settled on his lap. You licked your lips as you traced the shape of his hardened cock through the thin cotton. A stifling heat pooled low in your stomach, making your thin silk night gown feel as though it was far too thick to be wearing. Images danced in your mind while your hands twitched; kneeling between his spreads thighs with your lips around his cock, his big hands tangled in your hair as he guided you along his rigid shaft.

"Perhaps," he began, pulling your focus away from his lap and back to his face. "You could do a favor for me," he suggested, flashing you a wide smirk as he stood.

Your lips parted and you panted softly as you watched him slip his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. Slowly, he pushed the cotton over his hips and down his thighs. His hard cock sprang free, bringing a quiet gasp to your lips. You stayed in your place before him as the material pooled at his ankles, waiting to see what he would do next. To your great enjoyment, he stepped out of his boxers, kicking them away before sitting himself back on the sofa.

"What do you say? Care to sit for a moment?" he asked while gesturing to his lap and his rigid cock nestled in a thatch of blonde hair.

You bit your lip as you traced your eyes over his body. You drank in every inch of him: his well-muscled legs twitching the barest amount, his engorged cock already oozing at the tip, his broad chest, his wide shoulders and strong arms. You lifted your gaze to his face finally, your blush deepening as your eyes met his and saw the fiery lust that burned in them.

"I-I-" you stammered, your tongue feeling like a lead weight in your mouth. You dropped your eyes down to your bare feet when a warm chuckle fell from his lips. Goddamn, his voice was like honey, sinfully charming. Your eyes were glued to his mouth, which was pink and flush.

Rather than answer him verbally, seeing as your words were failing you once again, you lifted your hands to the top of your night gown. With trembling hands you slipped the thin straps from your shoulders and let the red silk slide down your body. A small triumphant smile formed on your lips as you heard him groan when your body was revealed to him.

"Come here," he ordered in a rasp.

You moved to him quickly, the second the words left his lips. Once you were within reach, his hand shot out and took hold of your bare hip. You braced yourself to be pulled down into his lap, beginning to lift your hands so you could rest them on his shoulders but found yourself spun around instead.

His hands came to brush along the back of your thighs, making you shiver in delight. Soft kisses were pressed to your lower back while his fingers explored the skin of your outer thighs and hips. Every patch of skin that his fingers touched cause a bolt of electricity to shoot along your entire body.

"Spread your legs for me," he murmured against your skin.

You did as asked without hesitation, shuffling your feet along the floor until they were shoulder width apart. Then you waited for what he would do next. You would wait for as long as he asked. You wanted him. You needed him. You needed whatever he was offering. He could push you to your hands and knees and fuck you like you were a needy bitch in heat and you would scream for more. He could have you any way he wanted as long as he took you.

"Now sit," he whispered as one of his hands settled on your hip.

Peeking over your shoulder, your eyes fell to his lap to find him holding his engorged cock at the base; his fingers and thumb stroking the velvety skin there as he waited for you to sink down onto him. Your mouth watered, your heat clenched, and your juices spread down your thighs as you watched the opalescent bead at the tip of his cock shimmer. You wanted to know what he tasted like.

"Or, if you'd rather just watch..." he offered as he let go of your hip and leaned back again.

With measured movements he began stroking his cock along the entirety of the shaft while the hand that had been on your hip explored his own chest. On every downstroke along his cock he pulled back his foreskin and traced the crest of his tip with his thumb, moaning almost dramatically. On every upstroke he would pinch one of his nipples between his forefinger and thumb, humming low in his throat. He was teasing you and you loved it. Yet, as much as you loved watching him, you wanted to feel him far more.

"No. I want..." you trailed off as your eyes snapped up to his face. There you found a smug grin and a pair of sparkling amused eyes as he watched you. He knew exactly how much you wanted him. "Close your legs," you told him. When he quirked his brow you bit your lip nervously and dropped your gaze to the floor. "Please..." you added in a whisper as you lifted your eyes from the floor to his lap.

Keeping his same posture, you watched as he slid his hand back down his shaft to the base of his cock. He held the rigid length up while sliding his feet along the floor. Once his muscular thighs were pressed together, he gestured for you to sit.

You were done hesitating. You wanted to feel him inside of you, nothing else seemed to matter. Reaching back, you placed your hands on the cushions and began lowering yourself into his lap. Your panting began anew as his free hand moved to rest on your hip, directing your descent. As you lowered yourself you shifted your feet back until you were straddling his thighs. The tip of his cock brushed along your soaking petals, the pearl of precum beaded on his skin smearing along your seam and making you shudder.

He lifted the hand around his cock to your other hip and held you in his hands. "No more waiting," he growled before forcefully yanking you down onto his cock.

A strangled moan that may have been his name burst from your lips as you were filled so abruptly. You wriggled around his lap, trying to find a comfortable position as you adjusted to the way his cock was stretching you so perfectly. However, before you could become fully accustom to the feeling of his cock buried deep into your sopping heat, he began lifting you up. You tightened your grip on the cushions as he used his strong arms to raise you off his cock the barest amount before slamming you back down. He did this again and again, lifting you higher and slamming you down harder every time. He rocked against you, rough and urgent and ready. The friction was divine and you could feel his breath against your skin as he huffed, amused with your pleased sigh.

Your moans went up in pitch with every rejoining of your bodies. His cock was perfection; filling you the exact right amount to make your vision flicker, your ears ring, and your eyes roll back in your head.

"Does it feel good, angel?" he murmured, not even the slightest hint of fatigue in his husky voice. "Does my cock filling your sweet little pussy feel exactly how you imagined it would?"

"Yes! Oh fuck, yes!" you cried out lewdly over the wet slapping sound of your skin meeting his. You gripped the material of the sofa, using the strength of your arms to aid your legs as you bounced yourself over his rigid cock. Your hips rolled every time your ample bottom met his pelvis, sliding his engorged tip along the most sensitive parts within you and wringing an unabashed moan from deep in your throat every time.

His hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you along his shaft. You threw your head back to rest on his shoulder as you cried out once more.

"I'm going to ravage you, make you squirm, make you come completely undone before me," he growled breathlessly into your ear.

You felt a series of shivers course through your veins as he slipped his hands from your hips and wrapped around your waist. Once your back was pressed snugly to his chest, you turned your face to the side and sealed your lips over his pulse point. You sucked and nibbled at his sweat-slicked skin, muffling your desperate cries while bringing soft whimpers to his lips.

You were impaled on his hard cock over and over, mewling helplessly as you bounced along his thighs.

You kept your mouth against his neck, breathing heavily against his skin and staying impossibly close to his body, needing his warmth.

"I think I've fallen in love with your breasts," he whispered as his hands skimmed along the heated skin of your abdomen. He cupped each of the heavy mounds in his large hands, brushing his thumbs back and forth over your taut nipples once his hands had taken their weight into his palms. "So soft, so luscious, and they fit perfectly in my hands. It's like they were made for me," he murmured the reverent praise directly into your ear, his hot breath washing over your skin and his lips brushing your ear with every word. His thumbs were teasing your sensitive nipples, wringing moans and whimpers from you as you struggled to keep yourself quiet. "I bet they taste exquisite as well," he added, the words and the visions they conjured in your mind forcing a high-pitched whine from you that had him smirking in triumph.

You were close now. Your whole body trembling in anticipation of your orgasm, pulling all sorts of noises from you that sounded vaguely unreal and entirely unlike you. You didn't know how you held out as long as you had already. With his rigid length stretching you so perfectly, his engorged tip spearing into your most sensitive spot, his teasing fingers over your nipples, his husky breaths and lascivious words in your ear, and the thrill of being with someone like Michael, someone as powerful as him, someone as sinful as him was driving you into a frenetic haze. You were ready to tumble over the edge. You just needed that final push.

Shifting your weight onto your feet, you slid one of your hands from its place gripping the cushion to the apex of your sex. A shudder racked your body as he turned his head from yours to rest his chin on your shoulder. As you pressed two of your fingers into your clit and began massaging the bundle of nerves his breath hitched in his throat.

"Yes..." he growled, the rumble of his chest vibrating into your back and sending a jolt of pleasure down your spine. "Touch yourself for me. Come on my cock."

You bit down hard on his neck and squeezed your eyes shut, his lewd words making your heat quiver. "When you come, say my name. I want to hear you scream my name for all to hear." he ordered gruffly.

He pinched each of your nipples hard between his fingers then, tugging at your breasts while he thrust his powerful hips into your soaking heat. You moved your fingers faster over your clit, racing yourself to your blissful end.

As the first wave of your orgasm washed over you, you released the flesh between your teeth and rolled your head to the side. You heaved a deep breath, filling your lungs with air, you needed to scream his name to the heavens as he commanded. You were completely at his mercy.

"Michael!" your whole body quaked as you cried his name loud enough to echo off the walls. You rode out your orgasm, every muscle in your body trembling as fire raced through your veins. You continued rolling your hips and rubbing your clit as Michael toyed with your breasts until you couldn't take anymore. You collapsed heavily into him after a moment, the hand between your legs falling to the side as you rested against his chest. You were spent, you didn't think you could take anymore. You had so little willpower left. You could only rock against him and beg, but no more words came. It was like you had forgotten how to speak, couldn't even summon the thought to.

With his hard cock still buried deep inside your quivering heat, Michael released your nipples from between his fingers and took your soaking hand gently in one of his. You tracked his movement with heavily-lidded eyes as he lifted your hand to his mouth. Your own mouth dropped open as you watched him slip your fingers past his lips. Fervent whines sounded in the back of your throat and your hips began to rock again as he lapped at your fingers, moaning his appreciation of your nectar.

As Michael sucked on your fingers, he lowered his dark eyes to yours and smirked around the digits in his mouth. He kept your eyes locked with his as he began rolling his hips with yours once more. He moved his free hand to your hip to guide your pliant body along his cock, chuckling when you began whimpering helplessly. Michael gave your fingers one last hard suck before pulling them from between his lips with a lewd pop.

"Did you think we were done, angel?" he asked, a cheeky grin on his lips and a lustful look in his eyes. With deliberate movements, Michael lowered your hand between your legs and pressed your fingertips back into your over-sensitive clit with his own. His grin grew wider as he listened to your whine and watched your whole body writhe in a bid to escape the excessive stimulation. "I'm the Antichrist," he rumbled darkly. "I own you. I decide when we're done," he said, whispering your name again and again.

Your eyes snapped open and you looked around your room as your sleep addled mind tried to comprehend what had happened. One moment you were in the arms of Michael, the devilishly handsome devil, and now you were back in your room. You turned to glance at the other side of your bed to see if Michael was there.

He wasn't.

Thank God.

You shook your head quickly as your cheeks began to burn. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, turning your gaze back to your lap, your mind racing. You squeezed your eyes shut as the gravelly sound of Michael's voice tickled your ears – and other parts of your anatomy. You could still feel the heat of his strong hands scorching you. Immediately, you felt a sense of dread mixed with shame.

"Motherfucker!" you said, much louder than you probably should have given it was past midnight. "Motherfucking fucker! Oh my god," you cursed, grabbing your pillow tightly and hitting your head against it repeatedly as you tried to chase away the wet dream you just had. You couldn't stop thinking about how you were splayed across his lap, his big hands on your body, and his hot breath tickling your ear. Your skin was tingling. A soft warmth settled low in your stomach as your core throbbed with the heat of your rising heart beat.

The fucker was in your head. This was worse than the nightmares. Far, far worse. You were going to find a way to make him pay for this.

You threw the pillow at the wall and then stormed out of the room. You headed for the kitchen like you had in the dream, only it was for real this time. You turned on the light switch and you were grateful when you didn't see Michael around. He must be asleep.

Your throat was parched and you needed a drink so you grabbed a cup, filling it up with water by the sink. You downed the glass quickly, sighing to yourself, a frown on your face. Then you heard a buzzing sound as you were staring off into space, making you snap back to reality. You also realized that the lights in the kitchen had dimmed immensely. You looked up at the ceiling, startled when you found the light bulbs in the chandelier were flickering rapidly.

You swallowed a thick gulp. Suddenly the air in the room felt alarmingly thick and it was quick to make you feel unsettled. There was something eerie about the way they wouldn't stop flickering and you noticed that it was getting faster in the fleeting moments that passed. You dropped the cup in the sink and left the kitchen, shutting off the lights.

The next morning rolled by and when you crawled out of bed, you were greeted by a strong and sweet aroma of baked goods coming from the kitchen. You went downstairs and spotted Michael and Miriam baking together. They were having a good laugh about God knows what, and you almost wondered what was so funny but you found that all the food on the table caught your interest more.

"Morning sweetie!" Miriam said, grinning wide. "Guess what me and Michael are doing!" she added in a sing-song voice.

"Something tells me I don't want to know," you muttered. "Which one's my breakfast?"

"Oh these are not for you. They're for our friends at church. There's this big event happening today where we are going to perform a series of rituals and everyone is bringing food!" Miriam announced excitedly.

"You really went all out," you said, your eyes wandering about all the food that adorned the table.

"I made cookies, brownies, pie, there's something for everyone! And oh! Look at what Michael came up with. He gave me the great idea of making deviled eggs and devil food cake! It's brilliant, right?" Miriam told you, looking so proud. "Deviled eggs and devil food cake, get it?" she repeated.

"Yeah, I get it," you answered.

"If there's any left over, we'll be sure to bring it back for you," Michael said, smiling smugly.

You let out a puff of air in response, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Yeah, we'll see what we can do, but those people, they can be gluttons! That's the beauty of Satan, he wants you to indulge as much as possible!" Miriam said with a roar of laughter and of course Michael joined in, they were so in sync it was more than a little creepy.

"Or you could join us, maybe, for the first time?" Michael asked, even though you knew he knew what the answer would be.

"No thanks," you said. "I'll just grab something on my way to school."

"Okay, don't say we didn't offer, angel," Michael replied, winking at you.

Your eyes widened at that pet name. It was what he called you in the dream. You felt your face heating up despite yourself and you shook your head, as if to shake the images of that dreaded dream away. You wanted to strangle him. That was not what you wanted to be thinking about on your way to school. You didn't need to be reminded of that again, it was already playing on a loop in your head ever since you woke up. Damn him.

"Whatever. I'm out of here. Bye," you said quickly before storming out the door.

Miriam shook her head, her smile forming into a frown. "I guess she didn't like the devil themed food. Well, more for us!"

Michael and Miriam high-fived each other.

On the way to school, there was a queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach as images of the dream danced in your head.

You didn't want a taste of the forbidden fruit. You were not tempted by it. Not even a little. That was what you kept telling yourself, anyway.


	4. Femme Fatale

You needed a distraction, anything just to get Michael out of your damn head.

You would just be going about your day and suddenly that dream you loathed oh so much would come back to you, creeping up on you. Something had to be done about it. There was just no possible way to avoid him, if he wasn't around you physically, he was in your head.

Unfortunately for you, there was no escaping him.

You were staring up at the ceiling, twiddling your thumbs as your mind raced with the thought of Michael's touch. You tried to focus on other things, like watching a movie or doing homework, and even cleaning the house but still there was nothing to make those images go away. Several days later, here you were, still thinking about it. Suddenly, the nightmares weren't so bad.

You sighed dramatically to yourself, fighting the urge to bang your head against the wall. Perhaps that would help.

But then your brain hatched an idea. Maybe you found a solution.

You sat up from your bed and grabbed your phone from the nightstand.

You dialed the number of one of your friends, or maybe fuck buddy was a more accurate term. His name was Tyler. He was someone you would casually hook up with whenever either one of you needed a fix. He would scratch your back and you would do the same for him. He was a frat boy, a total party animal who wasn't the brightest but he was easy on the eyes and he was fun, so he made for the perfect distraction.

"Hey, do you want to come over?" you asked, getting straight to the point.

"Yeah. I'm assuming your crazy mother isn't home?" Tyler said with a hint of amusement. Michael and Miriam were at some church event doing God knows what. Miriam told you that they would be gone for a while so you didn't have to worry about being interrupted which was a blessing.

"Yup, it's your lucky day. We've got the place all to ourselves and we have a couple of hours," you answered with a coy giggle.

"Say no more. I'm on my way," Tyler said before hanging up.

A soft smile played on your lips. You found a solution to your problem. It was a great way to forget for a little while.

It didn't take long for Tyler to arrive at your place. He didn't live that far away and whenever you two made plans to hook up, boy did he come running every time. He made you feel wanted and you loved that feeling.

Once he knocked on the door, you wasted no time in leading him upstairs to your room. He had dimples for days and a warm smile to match. You would find yourself getting lost in his deep blue eyes and you always loved running your fingers through his dark brown curls.

Tyler shut the door behind him, locking it before he met your longing gaze.

"I've missed you," he told you.

"Of course you did," you cooed, leaning close so that your face was right in front of his.

He brought a hand up the inside of your thigh and you shivered slightly at the contact. He leaned forward even more, almost as if you had pulled some kind of string to draw him towards you. He didn't need any more encouragement. You smirked before you grabbed for the collar of his shirt and pulled him so his body was against yours. He pressed a hand over the wall, bracing himself, but he met your lips as if he was expecting the action. You kissed him furiously, fueled by a mutual desire to get things over with, to get the fulfillment that you both came here for. His lips were soft and warm. His hand at your thigh rode up a little further, nearing your crotch.

You arched your back, returning the kiss. You brought your hands to his hips and yanked him closer to you. His lips slid against yours gently yet roughly all at once. You had no doubts that he wanted you, but he was always so cool and collected, so far away from losing himself to any of this.

You slipped a hand beneath his shirt and pushed at the small of his back, bringing you two together so that your bodies were completely flush with each other.

He made a small noise against your mouth, then brought his hand up, away from your legs and towards your waist. He pulled away from you slightly and you grinned at him. With no warning whatsoever, he brought his arms around you and lifted you up, hands sliding down to your ass to support you.

Your breath caught in surprise, but you reacted quickly, latching your mouth against his exposed neck and sucking on the skin. You ran your tongue over it, drawing a soft moan from his lips. He carried you towards your bed, footsteps somewhat unstable with your weight and your actions.

He set you down on the bed and you pulled your mouth away from his neck.

"That'll leave a mark," he murmured.

"Something to remember me with," you said cheekily.

He looked over you. "I'm sure I'd remember you in other ways."

"I am pretty memorable," you agreed.

"I take it back," he joked.

You laughed. "Okay, whatever. Why aren't you kissing me again?"

He rolled his eyes, but leaned in to kiss you. As his lips hit yours again, you put one hand back to steel yourself. His lips moved against yours almost desperately. He slipped his hand under your skirt, and you gasped sharply upon the warmth of his fingers. He rubbed at you through the fabric of your underwear for a few teasing moments before he tugged them down completely. They fell at your feet and he broke away from the kiss, bringing his hand up to his mouth, sticking one finger in and coating it with saliva before coming back down to your heat. You couldn't help but give a little moan as his wet finger made contact with your skin.

He pushed you against the mattress, leaning down and capturing your lips with his again. At the same time, his fingers rubbed slow circles over the sensitive skin near your opening. You grabbed a fistful of the bed sheets as your body started to tremble all over.

You cracked your eyes open to take a peek at him and felt your heart splutter at the sight, suddenly a flash of Michael's image came to view. You saw him on top of you, touching you, instead of Tyler. He was staring right at you, unblinking and intense.

"You can't stop thinking about me, can you?" Michael drawled, the words more of an accusation than a question. "You can't get me out of your head."

You mentally cursed at Michael in your head, telling him to leave you the fuck alone. You were not going to be thinking about him while you were fucking someone else. No, you were not, even though he was the sole reason why you were about to fuck the one in your bed right now.

Once you had properly steeled yourself up again, though, you made a grab for his hips, sliding your fingers beneath the waistband of his pants and pulling him back to you forcefully. You were riled up now because that asshole was taunting you in your head. Though, Tyler didn't seem to notice and just thought you were playing rough. You undid the button on his pants and pulled it down entirely. You took your right hand and cupped him with it, bringing the other behind him and pressing it against his lower back.

You often found that the easiest way to go about these things was to take control of them yourself. You liked to be in control.

He smirked down at you. "You're not a tease. You're a bit impatient, aren't you?"

You laughed in response. "I just don't feel like going slow right now."

"I can see that," he said dryly, and with no warning whatsoever, inserted his finger inside you.

You gasped sharply, "Just like that."

He curled his finger inside of you, brushing against the wet skin. You could barely keep yourself from making another noise. He pushed into you a little deeper and you leaned against the bed, letting out a few short, labored breaths. He brought his head down and latched his lips to your neck, making you throw your head back so he had easier access. He continued sucking at your neck and your inhibition seemed to fade further and further away. His tongue touched your skin gently, warm and wet and wonderful, making your whole body tingle.

You two would wind up like this a lot, where he was so focused on you he barely seemed to care about himself. But you could feel him growing harder by the second from where your hand was, and you knew that he needed this just as much as you did.

Impatiently, you pulled at his underwear, until it was slowly starting to fall down. With his fingers inside of you, you had a difficult time managing, but you did eventually complete your task. You brought the hand on his back around and grabbed his cock with both hands, rubbing your fingers on it in what you hoped was a stimulating way but feared may be a little harsher than necessary. It was very hard not to grasp a bit, with the way he was moving his finger inside of you. You adjusted your hands slightly to properly palm him. You could feel how tense his muscles were beneath you. You pressed a little harder with your hand and he let out a sharp breath in response. You gripped his shaft as if it could give you leverage and steeled yourself against the oppressive force of the hand between your thighs and rubbed your own over his length.

This was nice, you thought, but it was almost like he was being soft with you.

You couldn't let that happen, could you? You didn't want slow and soft, you wanted fast and hard, that was the perfect way to make you forget.

Once you were satisfied with the hardness of his cock in your hand, you craned your neck up and said, "Fuck me."

Slowly, he removed his finger from inside you. Your body seemed to grow weak with the absence of it. You lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, taking a firm grip on it. He slipped his hand all the way down the front of your underwear and within seconds, two of his fingers were avidly rubbing at the skin around your clit before he inserted them back in your entrance. You shuddered slightly at the warmth of his touch. It was hard to focus on much else than the coiling, burning arousal in the pit of your stomach, you loved the way his fingers moved inside you, almost rhythmic, somehow.

He chuckled as he elicited soft sounds from you, thrusting his fingers into you with more force than before. Now that he had found your sweet spot, every thrust seemed to be twice as effective.

"I know you wish it was my fingers inside of you. You wish I was the one making you all needy and desperate. You're wasting your time with him, but by all means, use all the distractions you need. It'll never be enough. You know that. They'll never sate you like I could. I know what you truly desire. I'd give you everything you needed and more," Michael, the asshole continued to mock you in your head and you were having trouble facing Tyler now, because almost every time you did, you imagined Michael in his place. Damn it.

You started massaging his balls rather aggressively but dropped your grip as he hit that sweet spot again, and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a loud moan, and your already wobbling knees almost gave out completely.

His fingers remained unfettered in their mission below your waist. You pushed your hips forward slightly, letting out a small exhale. Heat pooled in your stomach. He pushed into you farther, and you couldn't help but start to squirm, the haze of arousal hitting you like a tidal wave.

He grabbed at your ass and took a moment, positioning your bodies slightly, while you brought your mouth up his jaw and to his mouth. You bit at his bottom lip, pulling it towards you, and he pressed against your teeth with tongue until you let go, and then his tongue was in your mouth, forceful with its presence but far from unwelcome.

He pulled his fingers from your heat and then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your skirt, and he was pulling them down just past your thighs when the door swung open. The door hit the wall and resounded in the room.

Your body froze up in shock, eyes wide and mouth ajar as your gaze went to the opened door. It took Tyler a moment longer than you to notice but he turned slowly once he realized the look on your face.

The door was locked. You were sure of it. How did someone just come in?

There stood Michael in the doorway. There was a nonchalant, unreadable expression on his face.

"Michael, what the fuck?!" you spat, a grimace formed on your features.

After the initial shock of the situation, you covered both of your bodies with the blanket.

"So this is what Ms. Mead meant. This is hardly appropriate, don't you think?" Michael asked, his voice deceivingly calm.

"Holy shit! Is this your fucking boyfriend?" Tyler started freaking out and practically jumped off the bed. He quickly pulled his boxers on then he reached for his pants, his fingers fidgeting with the button.

"What? No! I thought he was going to be gone for a while!" you stammered, your face was burning up in complete and utter embarrassment.

"Wait does he live here?!" Tyler asked, his voice high.

"It's a long story, okay?" you said, not wanting to explain all the gory details.

"So this is what you do in your spare time. I can't say I'm surprised, but I thought you would have a little more class than to do here," Michael noted, and you snarled in response.

"Why the fuck are you even here? You can't even knock for fuck's sake?! Do you have any respect for my privacy whatsoever?!" you yelled at Michael, but still, his expression remained the same.

"Well, I think it's a good thing we came back a little early, especially when this is what you've been up to," Michael said.

"I didn't sign up for this shit, okay? So either tell this freak to leave or I'm getting the fuck out of here," Tyler said, clearly overwrought with the awkwardness of this situation.

Before you even got the chance to react and tell Michael off, Tyler practically flew across the room and was slammed against the wall, pinned in place. He yelped out in pain when his head hit the wall. His hands were splayed above his head and he tried to detach himself from the wall but failed miserably.

"What the fuck?!" you shrieked and looked at Michael. He had curled his finger around the hair behind his ear, revealing the scar underneath. Your eyes widened in horror when you saw the 666 hiding there. The mark of the beast.

Maybe he really was the Devil's spawn. The antichrist. Maybe everything your mother said was true.

After a moment Tyler fell to the floor and he sucked in a sharp breath, feeling relieved, but it wasn't for long. Foolishly, Tyler took a step and he tripped onto his knees, bile coming up in the same motion. He vomited on the floor, coughing and wiping at the corners of his mouth.

His hand started clawing at his chest as his heart started to race rapidly. Just as he began to raise his voice, half-shouting your name, a horrible pang hit his gut, and all the feeling in his fingers sniveled away. You could see Michael's hands formed into fists and he turned to Tyler, his eyes cold.

His arms collapsed on him, their bones no longer holding up their structural integrity, and as his hands slipped from under him and left him panicked on the floor beside his vomit, the pain came. His body felt like it was being set on fire.

"Tyler!" you cried. You ran over and knelt on the floor near his body.

There was some liquid coming from his eyes that he assumed to be tears–––except it left a red filter over his eyes. It was blood. He was bleeding from his eyes.

For some reason, that was what set off his screaming. Not the horrific pain, but the awful notion of his own blood spilling from every orifice on his face.

He screamed your name out in agony and right in the middle of his terror, something terribly wrong happened.

Unrestrainable fear began to overcome him as his eyes became slack, his arms started to jerk, and his body shook violently in a way that pulled him onto his back.

You reached for your cellphone on your nightstand and with shaky hands, you dialed 911.

The operator answered with a generic greeting and you managed to speak through your panic. "It's my friend. He just started convulsing all of a sudden and I don't know what to do! I need an ambulance! Please help! He won't stop!"

The operator asked for your location and you told her, your voice nearly failing you. "Please hurry! Please!"

He was gasping to breathe, every breath stopping halfway in his throat and coming back as a choked exhale. His shoulders were hitting the floor, banging into them again and again as his body jerked to every stimuli. He was choking. There was blood in his throat, pooling at the back of his mouth as his convulsions only sped up and became even more violent than before.

You turned to look at Michael, who looked startled himself, his mouth open in disbelief and eyes filled with shock.

"What did you do?!" you screamed, your eyes brimming with hot tears. "Michael, what did you do?!"

You knew he would only bring misfortune.

"I-I... I don't... I..." Michael started, but it was like he was speechless. He couldn't find the words.

"You're a monster!" you yelled at Michael, your face crumbling. Michael's expression turned into a pained grimace, and it actually looked like he felt shame and remorse for what he had done. He ran away, leaving you all alone, frightened and helpless.

When the paramedics came, Tyler was rushed to the hospital. One of them stayed to speak with you, asking if something like this has ever happened before. The answer was no, but you didn't give them much information. You couldn't even begin to explain what you just witnessed. You knew it was Michael's doing, but you didn't think they would believe you if you told them that it was his fault. What happened wasn't normal, and it wasn't like his fingerprints were on Tyler's body, so telling the truth wouldn't get you anywhere.

After that, everything went slow and fast at the same time. The ride to the hospital didn't really register in your mind. The hours of waiting for Tyler to wake up did, though, as well as your lingering feelings of guilt. This was partially your fault, too. You never should have invited him over.

You were in the waiting room for what felt like an eternity before the doctor arrived to give you the news. The doctor informed you that he was in critical condition, and that you should just go home because the odds of him waking up today was very unlikely. He told you that he would contact you immediately if there were any updates on his condition, but for now, you should get some rest yourself.

And so you returned home, just like the doctor said to, but one thing was for sure, you were not going to be resting.

You stormed inside the kitchen, where Michael and Miriam sat, eating a meal together. The moment you stepped foot in there, you were met with nothing but silence. They both looked at you then back down at their plates of food. You were fuming, ready to give them an earful.

"Did you tell her, or should I?" you asked Michael, a glare marring your features.

"I know everything. He told me," Miriam said, her tone was grating.

"Well, let me give you two an update. Tyler is in critical condition. They don't know if he's going to make it," you screamed at Michael, your words dripping with venom. "He could die because of you! Do you realize that? Do you even care?"

There was a frown on Michael's face and he remained silent.

"Your friend shouldn't have been here in the first place. I'm glad Michael caught you two in the act and stopped it before things went any further. That never would have happened if you weren't up to no good. You know how I feel about Tyler, he's a sleaze and a dumb ass frat boy!" Miriam yelled at you, immediately coming to Michael's defense.

"I know you don't approve of him, but he's my friend. Michael tried to kill him! He wanted to kill him! You didn't see what I saw, Michael threw him against the wall without even lifting a finger. He was bleeding from the nose, the eyes, everywhere! Why don't you see that there's something very wrong with him?" you continued to argue with Miriam but you knew it only fell on deaf ears.

"Did you tell them what I did? Should we be expecting the police?" Michael asked, glancing at you before he turned away again, his voice oddly soft and small.

"No, I didn't. They wouldn't have believed me. I don't even know how to explain what I just saw. I just told the paramedics that he's done drugs before and he was having withdrawals," you said bitterly.

"Oh thank Satan, you didn't tell them anything," Miriam replied, breathing a sigh of relief.

"But of course, you only care about yourself," you told Michael. "Mom, he can't live here anymore. He has to go. You never should have brought him here."

"We've had this discussion before. I told you, he's not going anywhere. What happened today doesn't change that in any way," Miriam said, standing her ground.

"What if he hurts you? Or me? Have you not taken that into consideration?" you questioned, trying to reason with her.

"You don't have to worry about that. I know Michael. He would never hurt us," Miriam maintained.

"Yeah, I would never do what you tried to do to me," Michael started, looking directly at you.

"What are you talking about Michael?" Miriam asked, a confused look on her face.

You narrowed your eyes at Michael, shooting daggers at him. Your lips were pressed together in a tight line.

"She was going to kill me. Well, she tried to," Michael rephrased. "First day here. I was trying to sleep but then I woke up when she came in. She had a knife."

"What?" Miriam gasped in surprise, turning to look at you. "Is this true?"

You didn't say anything for a long moment. You were heated. And here you thought, he wasn't going to bring that up, that you two wordlessly decided to keep that a secret. Then again, it wasn't like he owed you any favors, so you should have expected it.

"Well?!" Miriam asked, raising her voice. "Answer me!"

"Yes, yes it's true! That did happen, but look at what he's done! I was right to try and do that! Now he's turning you against me! My own mother!" you shouted.

"Dear Satan," Miriam whispered quietly to herself, a hand over her chest as she stared down at the table in front of her, trying to process everything. Slowly, she looked up to face Michael. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I didn't want to cause a commotion. I knew how much it would upset you. I didn't want to put you through any stress but I think it's important that you know now," Michael admitted.

Miriam took a deep breath, clasping her hands together.

"Mom, please don't tell me you're angry with me," you muttered.

"Angry? Angry doesn't even begin to describe how I feel right now! I'm absolutely furious! I've got the devil's wrath in me!" Miriam spat. You had never seen her so angry before. Her face was red all over. "I can't even look at you right now."

"I'm sorry," Michael said to Miriam.

"Don't you dare apologize Michael, you have nothing to be sorry for," Miriam started.

Your eyes went wide, your lips parted in disbelief. You couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"Oh my god. Mom, I'm only going to say this once. You have to choose. It's him or me. You can't have both," you urged, your voice calm for the first time since this heated discussion started.

"You think you can give me ultimatums? What's wrong with you? Don't ask something like that of me!" Miriam barked at you.

"I'm not asking. You have to make a choice," you told her, not backing down.

"Hey, that's not fair of you to try and force her to make a decision like that," Michael started, coming to Miriam's defense.

You didn't say anything to Michael. Your full attention was on your mother. You looked at her, examining her face and body language, searching for any sign that she would choose you. Straightaway, you weren't getting a good vibe from her.

"Mom," you started but trailed off.

She was silent. Her hands were still clasped together and she continued to stare at the table with a pensive expression.

"I don't like ultimatums. You can't back me into a corner like that and expect me to make a choice," Miriam said in the quietude of the room.

"Then I'll make it for you," you answered, your voice nearly quivering. "You know what, you two deserve each other," you said, glancing at both of them with a frown before you stormed off into your room.

Rage was fueling you now and you grabbed some essentials in a hurry. You packed light and only took things you absolutely needed. You threw them into a backpack as quickly as possible, needing to get out of this house. You couldn't be here anymore. You took a deep breath and exited your room.

"Where are you going?" Miriam called out from behind you. Your back was facing them and your hand reached for the knob of the front door.

"Anywhere but here," you said before walking out the door, slamming it shut with a resounding thud.

Michael and Miriam exchanged a long, meaningful stare.

You couldn't believe it. She didn't even fight for you to stay. She chose Michael over you, over her own daughter. Michael won. You were fighting back tears. There was a dull, persistent ache in your heart.

You threw your backpack in your car. When you got in the driver's seat you found yourself looking back at what used to be your home with a lingering gaze before driving off.

You went to the one person you knew who would take you in no matter what, no questions asked. You arrived at their doorstep, backpack over your shoulder.

"Can I stay here?" you asked. Your voice trembled, bottom lip quivering.

Olivia looked you over with a frown before she nodded her head, pulling you into a tight embrace. You stopped fighting and allowed yourself to sob brokenly into the warmth of her shoulder.


	5. A Touch of Magic

You hated being right.

It was a sinking feeling, you thought, and unfortunately – you were right.

It froze the blood in your veins, the steady beat of your heart in your rib cage, and you were drowning, deeper and deeper until the need to breathe clawed at your lungs and you reluctantly gave in and pulled in another shuddering, bone-racking breath. It rattled your entire being and your vision swam, a myriad of blurry colors flashing before your eyes. You wondered why this was so, until you blinked and felt the stinging tears stream down your cheeks. You could feel it. The heavy pressure pushing down on your chest. _Oh_.

With dark thoughts and a heavy heart, you found yourself on your best friend's doorstep.

You knew in the back of your mind that she wouldn't choose you over Michael, at first, you were in denial about it, but you started to realize that no matter what happened, she was going to take his side over yours. That was a hard pill to swallow. She had just met him, and you were her daughter, the one that she gave birth to, you thought that counted for something, yet that didn't seem to matter anymore. She was convinced that Michael was her savior. You didn't know how to compete with something like that, and you didn't want to.

It was a breath of fresh air to be living with your best friend.

You felt so much more free and you didn't have to stress about Michael or have to deal with your mother's constant nagging. Those two were truly a deadly combination. You were living so much more comfortably now. You started to think maybe the whole situation was a blessing in disguise, well except the part where your fuck buddy was still laying in a hospital bed. Yeah, that part sucked.

As soon as Olivia heard what happened, she had pulled you into another reassuring hug, squeezing you breathless, hoping some support would help remove the anxiety etched on your face. It had taken a lot of the edge off the heartache knowing that she was there for you. Over the years, you two had become close enough that you considered each other sisters and never hesitated when the other was in need.

It was a sleepover every night with your best friend. You two would stay up until the crack of dawn watching cheesy movies and eating late night fast food whenever your hearts desired. She helped you forget and you couldn't thank her enough for that. At least, something good came out of this very unfortunate situation.

Six days flew by just like that. Six days and there was no word from Miriam.

Not one text, not one call, not one visit. Nothing. Jack shit. Looks like you made the right decision. You didn't want to dwell on it and throw a big fit about it so you tried to always keep yourself occupied with something because you found when you were alone with your thoughts, that's when it was the hardest to accept what happened. So Olivia made it her mission to make sure you didn't spend time sulking.

That's why she decided to take you out to a fancy diner for dinner which happened to be your favorite place to eat. There was nothing like a full, happy stomach to help cheer you up.

You and Olivia sat across from each other in the furthest corner booth in the restaurant, a cheeseburger in each of your hands, a plate of french fries between you two, and two milkshakes on the table.

"This is the best cheeseburger I've ever had," you said, setting it down on top of your plate to pick up a few of the fries, dipping them in your vanilla milkshake before shoving them in your mouth.

"That's disgusting," Olivia commented as you did it again. You made a face at her as you did it a third time just to gross her out.

You laughed as you swallowed the french fry/milkshake mixture and pulled your milkshake towards you to drink from it. "God, I'm so hungry," you said as you pushed it back in its place next to Olivia's, your face reddening as you were sure you made a mess of yourself. "Nothing like good food after a long day."

"Long day? Girl, you've been binge watching shit on Netflix all day," Olivia said with an amused grin on her face.

You lifted your hand up and flipped her off, only to earn a loud laugh from her.

You picked up your cheeseburger again, taking a large bite of it. You and your friend were in the middle of a conversation, discussing what you two were going to do after this. She wanted to go the movies and watch a rom-com but all you could think about was returning to the comfort of your bed.

But in the midst of that conversation, you heard the chime of the entrance door and your head whipped to the source of the sound.

A rock settled in the pit of your stomach as you found yourself staring far longer than you should have and just like that, the smile on your face faded.

Suddenly, your appetite was gone.

It was Michael and Miriam, making their grand entrance. Michael's eyes seemed to find you almost right away. You tried to glance away, but before you could he turned his head and you two locked eyes. Your heart stuttered in your chest, an anxious and irritated hiccup that only occurred when you found yourself in his presence. His stare lingered but his expression was unreadable. Miriam was going on about something and she didn't seen you because she was too busy ranting to Michael, but his focus was on you. Though, it was only temporary. Once they both found somewhere to sit, which was many rows away from you, Michael's gaze averted.

Olivia didn't notice at first but when you looked back at her with a frown, she immediately became concerned.

"What is it?" she asked.

"They're here. My mom and Michael. Don't look over, please," you whispered loudly to Olivia.

"Oh shit," Olivia said, glancing at Miriam and Michael even though you explicitly told her not to.

"I said don't look!" you repeated in another loud whisper.

"Sorry," she murmured back.

"Good Lord, what are they doing here?" you asked, but it was more to yourself than to her.

"Should we go? We don't have to stay. We can just pack the rest to go," Olivia suggested.

"No, let's just finish eating. It doesn't matter. Let's pretend they aren't even here," you said, taking another bite of the cheeseburger and sip of your milkshake but it didn't sit well in your stomach.

"Okay, if you're sure," Olivia replied, a look of concern etched on her features.

Tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes despite yourself and you hoped that she didn't notice. You didn't want to cry in front of her and show just how much it bothered you, and you hated making a scene. You took a nibble of your cheeseburger. Your eyes were glossy, slowly filling with tears.

Once you felt a tear start to slide its way down your face, you knew you had to come up with some kind of excuse before it was too late.

"I'm gonna use the bathroom real quick, I'll be right back," you said, standing up quickly before Olivia even got the chance to respond. Your eyes were brimming with tears and you bit your lip to keep from crying.

You rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door from behind you as soon as you were inside. You drew a shaky breath before coughing once, twice. You gasped around the sob that raised up in your throat and your lips wobbled. A small drop rolled down your cheek and your whole body tensed up, making your muscles ache.

You could feel all resistance that kept you from breaking down leave your body and a loud sob escaped your throat. Everything just hurt so much. Even crying hurt. Emotionally you were a mess – your mind in shambles, but your chest hurt too.

Your vision swooped in and out and you began to shiver. One sob followed another. You hunched over the bathroom sink and stared down at it, making sure to avoid your reflection in the mirror. There was a hollow feeling in your chest where your heart needed to beat.

You were shaking in pain and frustration. You could feel your throat tighten up and another whimper left your lips. Your breaths were varied and ragged as if you couldn't decide when to breathe or for how long. You slapped a hand over your mouth to try to block out the desperate, heart-wrenching sobs escaping your mouth.

You were still crying your heart out as you heard the door being opened and the quietness of the air gave way to dull footsteps that approached slowly toward you, and as you lifted your gaze from the sink, you saw Michael, standing right behind you. The bathroom was dimly lit but you could see him clear as day.

You quickly wiped away the tears that painted your face and started washing your hands in the sink, acting as though you weren't just crying. He strode towards you and you made sure to keep your head down.

"What are the odds of us choosing the same diner as you?" Michael asked. Hearing his voice again made anger bloom inside you. He was the last person you wanted to see.

"Well the chances are pretty high when you're actively stalking someone," you bit out a tone that made it obvious that he was not welcome here. "Seriously, did you know I was going to be here?"

"It's merely a coincidence. I'm not stalking you. Ms. Mead said she likes to eat here, so that's why we're here," Michael started. He took a couple more steps until he was directly in front of you.

Michael noticed that your stance was not just hostile. You were defensive and guarded and he snorted knowing that this was enraging you and just as he predicted you threw your most cold glower at him.

You felt as if your heart would burst out of your chest, your muscles clamped and blood raced with every violent pumping beat inside your rib cage. So fast you felt your fingers tingling with heat and a fever erupting and rushing into your bloodstream, setting your whole body on fire. That was the kind of effect he had on you.

"There's nothing I have to say to you. Just go away and mind your own goddamn business," you spat without even turning to look at him.

"You're crying," Michael stated in a whisper, looking at you from behind dark lashes. "You look so sad, broken."

You jerked back and turned around. "I'm not."

"I heard you crying. Your eyes are red and puffy and I see the streaks of tears on your face," Michael said honestly. He drifted closer to you. Steady steps until his breath caressed your face. He wiped at your tears with a finger. He cupped your jaw in his hand, running his thumb over your cheekbone where tears had dropped. "And you're a terrible liar."

"Leave me alone," you demanded in a quiet, annoyed voice.

"You haven't been sleeping either, have you? You have dark circles under your eyes," Michael told you as he examined the features of your face.

"Now why do you think that is? Huh?" you scoffed sarcastically. "You have successfully ruined my life. Before you showed up on my doorstep, everything was just peachy, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows but things were fine. Tolerable. But then you come along and fuck everything up! So as far as I'm concerned, you can go to hell, and never come back," you hissed. You were like fire trapped inside bone and skin. Like burning rage under melting ice.

"I warned you that I would have to tell Ms. Mead, at some point. I knew she wouldn't be happy about it, but you didn't give me much of a choice. You were the one that left. You didn't have to give her an ultimatum. It was really unfair of you to put your mother in a position like that," Michael said, placing a hand on the counter top of the bathroom.

"You didn't have to do that! All you had to do was leave! Leave me and my mom alone! That was all I wanted! I just wanted you to go!" you yelled at Michael. Your anger was clouding your vision and had turned your whole body rigid.

"I like it there. I love it, actually. It's the first real home I've ever lived in. I wouldn't trade that for anything," Michael said seriously.

"Well good for you!" you threw at him with not even a glimmer of kindness, irritation bubbling through your blood. You clenched your fists at your sides, hoping to relieve the pressure you felt building up. You had never wanted to see his face again after what happened. "Enjoy it while it lasts, but I'm sure you'll do something to fuck it up. Misfortune seems to follow you wherever you go, like a plague. Things don't just work out for people like you."

Michael looked down at you with a solemn expression, exhaling through his nose. "You know, you didn't have to be such a drama queen. You're used to getting your way, so you think if you throw a temper tantrum that the world has to stop and listen. You assumed your mom would get rid of me. It's not going to be that easy."

He was taunting you now. The motherfucker. He thought he was sly. You shot him a burning glare and killed him in your mind in the slowest, most painful ways imaginable, hoping that it would remedy your itch to slam your palm up to his face and leave a bruising mark on his skin.

"She pities you. You managed to manipulate her and now you've got her wrapped around your finger, but it's only because she feels sorry for you, so don't get a big head about it thinking she actually cares," you said. You knew it wasn't true, you just wanted to try and hurt him in some way.

"Is somebody jealous?" he asked. His tone contorted into curious innocence, but you knew of his mockery. "You wish you had what I have, instead you're stuck with feeling like you're the unwanted one," his words were an accusation, not a question. "It's a lonely feeling, isn't it?"

"I hate you," you spat, feeling the need to let the words be known once more.

"I know," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly, seemingly unaffected by your declaration. It wasn't like you hadn't said it before.

"And you don't intimidate me," you added. It was childish, but you wanted to have the last word.

"I know," he repeated, amused. You almost huffed as anger flared in your gut, but stopped yourself in time.

You took a deep breath and recollected yourself, taking a step forward. You squared your shoulders and faced him. You wanted to throttle him, your heart was beating so much. You two simultaneously eyed each other, picking one another apart with the scrutiny of a Catholic schoolteacher.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" you challenged boldly. "You may have won this one, you may think that you've got everything you want right now, but you sure as hell won't be so fucking smug when it all comes crashing down. When you have jack shit and you're completely alone and nobody wants you. When you become so desperate that you'll pray and pray to Satan, begging him to help you, but not even he will answer you. You'll have no one to turn to and nobody who loves you."

"Oh, what's the matter? Did I strike a nerve?" he mocked you sardonically, using a tone that was meant to convey 'concern'. "It's not my fault that Ms. Mead got sick of your bullshit. You know, if Ms. Mead's poison hadn't killed your father, he probably would have ended up doing the deed himself, you would have drove him to extreme measures just so he could get away from you."

Rage coursed through your veins and your eyes flared. You couldn't believe the audacity he had to speak to you like that and talk about your deceased father in such a way.

"You motherfucker! Back the hell off!" you shouted at him, gritting your teeth angrily.

And a beat after your outburst, the lights inside the room started to flicker rapidly. It went on and off again and again for a few moments before the lights died completely and engulfed the room.

A wave of panic washed over you, the sudden darkness was disorientating. You were confused and startled by what just happened. It must have been Michael's doing. He was probably trying to scare you.

You managed to run past Michael and exited the bathroom in a hurry. You practically sprinted over to your best friend and grabbed her hand firmly in yours.

"Let's get out of here, now," you told her quickly. You didn't even give her a chance to react before you started guiding her out of the diner without a moment to waste.

"What happened? Are you okay?" she asked with food still in her mouth.

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just want to go home," you said, trying to play it off like it was nothing.

Olivia didn't seem to believe you but you couldn't find it in you to care much about that. You were far too freaked out. You just wanted to get out of there.

You two returned back to her house and Olivia was quick to plop down on the couch, moaning about how full and tired she was. She offered to watch a movie with you but you told her that she should get some rest. You just wanted to be alone right now. Though, you were having some difficulty getting your mind off of your encounter with Michael. You were still fuming. That man was nothing but trouble. How dare he even show his face to you again after what he did.

You entered the room you were staying at, which was a guest room, it was small and simple but homely. There was a stack of books sitting on the desk across from you. You had been procrastinating all week, making excuses for yourself every time you had to study so now you were gonna have to cram for exams. Just great. You didn't know how you were going to focus with everything that was weighing on you, though. It just didn't feel important anymore.

Your body slumped against the door, allowing yourself to sulk for a long moment as your mind raced, making you want to pull your hair out. You breathed in and out. You just needed a moment.

Then you decided to call the hospital, to see if there was an update on Tyler's condition. You had to know and you hadn't heard from them in a couple of days.

You were put on hold for a few minutes before the doctor finally answered. You didn't waste any time in asking about how was doing, if he was any better, if he was going to make it.

The doctor's tone sounded grave and you could see the somber expression on his face without even being there in person. He informed you that he was still in critical condition and unconscious. He also told you that you should visit him, and the words felt like a punch in the gut. It would probably be the last time you would be able to.

You told him you understood and hung up on him right afterwards, a grimace on your face. You plopped down on your bed, your hands lunged up to your hair, tearing and pulling at it in exasperation.

You felt your frustration, anger, and disappointment smother you completely, feeling like a glass overflowing with water. With a great sob into your hands, sheets of paper scattered on your desk suddenly fluttered up into the air and ripped right down the middle, startling you to the core, pushing you against the headboard of the bed.

You were speechless. What the fuck had just happened?! Your homework was all over the floor in pieces. The window wasn't open, there was no drafts in your room, from what you believed, there wasn't a ghost haunting this house, so what in the hell caused your papers to fly into the air and rip exactly down the middle?!

You wiped your tears from your cheeks as you bent over the bed, looking down at the papers. You were afraid to move. What if you were next? The thought sent a massive chill down your spine. From what you could recall, the sheets went up into the air and ripped right as you sobbed into your hands. At that moment in time, you were more confused than ever, trying to wrap your brain around what just occurred.

Did... did you do that?

The sobbing and the strange paranormal encounter made you wonder if you were just exhausted and was imagining things. You quickly got off your bed, changed into a pair of pajamas, and turned off the lights to go to sleep, hoping that everything was just a dream you would eventually forget.

Your daily alarm buzzed from somewhere in your room, annoyingly loud for a weekend morning. Reaching for your nightstand, your hand patted around for your phone in an attempt to snooze it, only to find it not where it usually was.

Oh yeah, it was still in your pants pocket.

You spotted your jeans in a pile on the floor by the bedroom door. Before you could even get up, your phone suddenly slipped out of your pants pocket, flew through the air, and landed right in your hand.

You dropped the phone to the ground with a yelp. The suddenness of it all startled you and you sat up, freaked out as what had just happened. The alarm was still going off, but it had somehow made its way to you without you even having to get up. You peered cautiously over the side of your bed down at the phone as if it was a cursed object. You carefully reached out and poked it before quickly turning it over and silencing the alarm. Taking a look around your room, the sheets of paper from the night before were still scattered in pieces all over the floor. You slowly looked at your hand, tremendously perplexed at the situation.

"What the fuck is happening?" you whispered to yourself, looking around the room as if someone had installed wires or hidden cameras as a sick prank. You quickly grabbed your phone off the floor, web searching what 'symptoms' you were having.

First Google search: 'floating objects'

That yielded little results. Just a bunch of weird stock photos and nothing explaining what was happening.

Second Google search: 'I moved an object'

Wait, too vague. You changed it to: 'I moved an object without using my hands'

Still nothing interesting.

This time, a whole bunch of fake magic trick tutorials popped it. It did get you thinking, however.

Third Google search: 'object movement real magic'

You didn't believe it would yield any search results, but it was worth a shot. Suddenly, the words 'witchcraft magic' appeared. You tapped on the link. It led to a website with a little witch's hat at the top that had the words: Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, on it. It looked like some sort of homemade guide to witchcraft spells and magic. At the top, there was a drop down menu, with one quick link leading to abilities.

Without hesitation, you tapped the link and was brought to a page full of supernatural talents. The list had names you could hardly pronounce, with things about raising the dead and mind control, and other abilities you had only known in video games. After about a minute of scrolling, your eye caught a keyword: 'teleporting'.

The article you stopped at was called 'telekinesis', which meant to move things with your mind. The objective was to focus your entire mind on the task you wanted to achieve, and your mind would be able to influence the task by itself. There wasn't much on the matter of how it could happen, but it intrigued you wholeheartedly. At the end of the article, there was a video. It was a video of the Supreme witch Cordelia Goode. She was talking about what kind of abilities witches could possess, what were some of the key signs, and about how she knew this could be a scary, challenging thing to process, but to not repress it.

You did vaguely remember a video of her in 2014 in which she went public about witches and magic and the name of this academy did sound familiar. Though, you were very skeptical about it at the time. But now, you weren't sure how to feel or how to process it all. It was a lot to take in.

You quickly google searched this place, checking to see if it was located in your area. It was located in New Orleans, Louisiana. You would have to take a plane there.

Your curiosity was piqued but you felt an overwhelming sense of fear and uncertainty grip your heart.


	6. Thou Shalt Not Kill

You were outside of the hospital, just about to leave when you got the call. The phone call that you knew would come eventually, but you didn't expect it to be as soon as it was.

Only three days had passed since your last encounter with Michael. Just when you were adjusting to your new home and accepting that your mother didn't want you anymore, that's when everything changed.

You went to visit Tyler, you had been putting it off for a little while but it was finally time to face him. The doctor said that he had been unresponsive and the prognosis was looking very grim as were his vital signs. He was in a comatose state, but the doctor didn't think it was very likely he would be waking up. Tyler had multiple deep cuts, internal bleeding, spinal damage, the works.

When you entered the hospital room he was staying at, he was sleeping. Silence filled the room save for the soft beeping sounds coming from the machines. Tyler laid in his hospital bed, only covered in a flimsy gown with tubes coming out in every which way. His neck was bandaged as were his hands, and he had definitely seen better days, he didn't look like himself anymore. He looked like a man damaged by war. His face was abnormally pale and thin. His skin was almost grey and there were shades of red all over and under his eyes.

You sat down in the chair next to his bed, feeling anxiety creep into your bones. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You had to give it a try. With focus and determination, maybe it was possible. You were still very unsure of what powers and abilities you had possessed, and you didn't feel like waiting around for another strange incident to occur but in that time you had been reading up on anything that was witchcraft related that you could get your hands on, so you figured it was worth a shot. Maybe you could wake him up, maybe you could heal him.

You scooted closer, so close you could feel the fever radiating from his body. Even hear his heartbeat, if you listened closely. You placed your hand on Tyler's arm and shut your eyes, furrowing your brows as you concentrated wholly on the task.

Several minutes had passed and time felt like it was standing still. It didn't seem like you were making any progress whatsoever other than sitting in the same position for far too long attempting something that you started to feel was more than a little hopeless at this point.

You pulled your hand away slowly, a sense of dread washing over you when you opened your eyes and you were reminded that nothing had changed. It was futile. Now you felt like an idiot thinking that you had special abilities. You were feeling so humiliated and ashamed of yourself that you didn't think you could take another second of sitting in this room.

But right when you stood up. Tyler's eyes opened. Except his eyes weren't blue anymore. You were quick to notice that. Now they were just red slits, between his swollen upper and lower eyelids were nothing but red, and you nearly jumped back from the shock. Your blood ran cold and it sent chills down your spine. It was an appalling sight. He didn't say anything for agonizingly long moment.

"Is that you?" Tyler asked in a throaty voice.

He repeated the question again, saying your name aloud when you didn't answer.

You nodded your head, but then you realized he couldn't see that so you had to answer vocally. He could probably tell it was you from your signature perfume. "Yeah, it's me."

He was awake. You did it. You healed him.

As you were mentally celebrating your victory, you found that it was very short-lived once Tyler spoke again.

"You... You stay away from me. You hear me? You stay the fuck away from me," Tyler hissed through his teeth.

"What? Why? What did I do?" you asked, raising your brows in question as a frown took over your features.

"You're fucking cursed. You and that freak you're living with. This never would have happened to me if it wasn't for you two," he started, venom dripping in every word he spoke.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry-"

"Don't you fucking apologize! It doesn't change anything. I don't want to see you ever again," he cut you off and barked at you. He tried to charge toward you but he couldn't with all the tubes holding him back. You jumped back, startled and frightened.

You hurried out of the hospital room, but you could still hear him shouting even as you ran out of there.

"Don't ever come back here! You hear me?! Don't ever show your face around here, you bitch! You stay the fuck away from me!"

You ran as fast as your legs could carry you until you were out of the building, tears welling in your eyes as a lump formed in your throat.

You returned to your car, panting heavily, completely out of breath. You just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. Your shoulders started jerking as you hunched over in your seat, trying to hold everything back along with an unhealthy dose of panic setting in. Your head was dropped low, your breathing was erratic and rough, harsh by the sounds you were making. You felt tears, hot and terrified, dripping down your face and clinging to your jaw, and the only sound you could hear were your own heaving sobs.

That was when your phone started ringing.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and stared at it for a long moment. Your fingers were twitching and once you saw the name of the caller, you ignored it.

You sighed deeply and went on with your pity party, but then seconds later, your phone rang again. You groaned in annoyance to yourself before you finally just gave in and answered.

"Honey, you have to come home now! I need you to come back home! Please!"

Miriam was absolutely hysterical, sounding like she was on the verge of a breakdown. You could hardly make out a word she was saying.

"What? What are you talking about? I didn't catch any of that," you said with a sniff, having to move the phone away from your ear because her voice was so damn loud.

"Something's happened to Michael! The cops arrested him! They're locking him up and they won't let me talk to him! They won't let me see him!" Miriam cried, and you were still having some trouble understanding her, but you did catch the part where Michael was arrested.

"They arrested Michael?" you asked to clarify, raising your brows. "What happened? What did he do?"

"Just come home! Now, please! Hurry!" Miriam wailed, and with that, she hung up.

You slipped your phone back in your pocket and shook your head.

After the initial shock of Miriam calling you, you started to feel confused and angry. Did Miriam just expect you to drop everything and return home just because Michael was in trouble? You warned her something like this would happen and it wasn't like there was anything you could do, or anything you would want to do in order to help this helpless situation. Michael had made your life a living hell and you were still dealing with the aftereffects of the shit he had pulled. Now Tyler hated you and Michael was to blame for that. Besides, you were comfortable and content with living with your best friend, you didn't want to leave just to go back to a never-ending cycle of drama.

You sat in your car for a long while with an upset stomach, going back and forth and contemplating the whole time whether or not it was worth it to come back home. You were so unhappy there and it was a blessing to be away. But your mother needed you and you felt like that was reason enough to come back, despite your long history of problems.

You couldn't find it in you to keep her waiting long so right after your pity party, you went to her house.

"Oh thank Satan, you're here!" Miriam cried, running over to you with her arms stretched out. She tried to pull you into her embrace but you immediately took a step back.

"Nope," you said, raising your hand in front of her. "Too soon."

"Oh," Miriam said, a frown marring her features. "You're still angry."

"Yes, I'm still angry. I think I have every right to be. I warned you. I hate to be the one to say I told you so, but I told you so," you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You haven't heard the story yet! Michael is not at fault! The cops shouldn't have arrested him!" Miriam said, defending Michael to the bitter end.

"Of course, he could do no wrong in your eyes," you mumbled to yourself in annoyance.

"Come sit down and let me explain to you what happened," Miriam started. You sighed dramatically before taking a seat at the table with her.

"We were at the grocery store. We were running low on a few things, but most importantly, I needed to get me a goat's head. You know, the ones that I use for my incantations. I asked the butcher very nicely for my goat's head but then he started to really get on my bad side. He thought that I wanted goat meat, and he kept telling me that he couldn't sell me a goat's head but he wouldn't explain why. It didn't make any sense! I guess they only butchered headless goats there, I don't know. He was being a total asshole! Then he told me that he wasn't going to give me the head because it was for some insane shit! He was discriminating against my religious beliefs! I couldn't let him do that! This is a free country!" Miriam vented to you, going on and on, and all you could think about was how much you wanted this long story to be over, and for her to get to the point already.

"Anyway, I was so angry, and I just couldn't talk to this poor excuse for a butcher anymore, so I went to speak with the manager. But then when I came back, Michael was standing over the butcher's dead body. He had all these knives stuck in him! Michael told me that he was defending me, that no one should ever talk to me like that. He was protecting me!" Miriam explained, a hand at her chest. "He doesn't deserve to be locked away for that! Serves that butcher right for being such an asshole."

"Oh my god," you whispered to yourself, your hands rubbing at your temples. "He murdered an innocent man, I don't think he's going to get out of there any time soon."

"That butcher man wasn't innocent! No, not at all. He got what was coming to him! He refused to give me my goat's head! Thank Satan for Michael! He was my savior. Now this is the part where I say I told you so!" Miriam continued, making her stance on the issue very clear.

You shook your head in response but it wasn't like you were expecting much from her.

"We need to figure out a plan to get him out of that cell. He doesn't belong in there! He belongs here, at home!" Miriam croaked. "He must be feeling so alone right now, and so scared. It's just not fair. He did nothing wrong," she added, on the verge of tears as she started to visualize what he was going through.

"Mom, we're not going to try and break him out of there. We cannot do that, so please don't be getting ideas," you told her, having to shut down that suggestion immediately. "Seems to me like he's a danger to himself and to society. You know what he did to Tyler, and now this butcher guy! A cell is where he belongs."

Miriam uttered a long-drawn-out sigh. "It's just not right. It's not right."

"Mom, you have to accept it. There's nothing we can do," you said, giving her nothing but the cold, hard truth. "I think you should just rest on it, maybe you can visit him tomorrow."

"Right now, in this very moment, there is one thing we can do. We have to pray to him. " Miriam started, reaching out to grab your hand but you instantly drew it away.

"For the last time, Mom, I'm not praying to Satan," you stressed.

"I need your support on this! Can't you do it just this once? For me?" Miriam begged, reaching for your hand again but you refused to give it to her.

"No, I can't do it this once, or ever. Especially not for him," you said, cursing under your breath.

"One day you're going to need him, and you're going to wish that you would have prayed with me all these times. I'm speaking it into existence. One day you're going to need him!" Miriam called out even as you started to walk away.

"Yeah, yeah, over my dead body!" you shot back before leaving to your room.

Michael wasn't allowed visitors for several days, but when he was finally granted it, Miriam was the first to visit him.

At first, you didn't think you were going to visit him. In fact you were strongly against it, reasonably so, but you went back and forth on it in your head and decided that you were going to confront him about what he did to Tyler, and the repercussions you were now facing because of what he had done. You had to give him a piece of your mind and you wanted answers.

"You have a visitor."

Michael looked up from where he was sitting on the floor of his cell, back against the cold concrete wall. He eyed the guard with mild interest. He didn't know what to expect, Miriam had visited him earlier in the day and she wasn't allowed to do so again, so Michael was confused. It wasn't like he had any friends or any loved ones who would care to visit him.

Michael wasn't expecting you. You were the last person he thought would come visit him. But when a guard escorted you into the small room, Michael was genuinely shocked. Guilt rolled through him as you silently walked in and stood in front of the barred cell. You surveyed the cell, it was small and sparse, with the only furniture being the narrow bed.

You two stood there in silence for what seemed like hours, but truthfully, it was only minutes. You hadn't looked at him yet, just stood staring at the scarred wood of the wall, your hands beside yourself.

Finally, you looked at him, your eyes boring into his, his throat felt like it was closing up and he swallowed hard. Your gaze was grim, your jaw tight. You looked furious and sad, and something else he couldn't place. You caught sight of the bruise marring his face and wondered to yourself how he got it, but you didn't ask.

He tried to be strong but looking into your eyes he couldn't do anything but lower his head in shame and regret. He didn't know what to say, his throat was dry and he felt like his heart could beat right out of his chest.

"I didn't expect to see you," Michael finally said, breaking the silence.

"I didn't think I was going to come either," you admitted, looking down at your feet before you faced him again. "I visited Tyler. You know, the one you tried to kill. He's alive but just barely. He's so messed up now, you might as well have killed him. He hates me now, because of you. He blames me for what happened."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I just meant to scare him a little. I didn't mean to-" Michael started, his voice was soft and small.

"You ran away like a coward, you couldn't even own up to what you had done. You just left," you cut him off, your tone was grating.

"I don't know what came over me. It happened so fast. The next thing I knew he was on the ground and it was because of me. I couldn't stop it, it was like something took over," Michael maintained.

For a second, your hardened face and piercing stare had softened just a little, but just as quickly you schooled your features and growled out a reply. "There's evil in you. You knew what you were doing. You must have. You wanted to hurt him. You don't get to play the victim, just admit it. Admit that you wanted to kill him."

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," Michael persisted. You noticed that tears were gathering at the corners of his eyes and within moments they were now staining his cheeks. You didn't know what to think. This was a completely different side of him. One you had never seen up close before. His vulnerable side. He looked so fragile and lost, like you had the power to make him break down just by scolding him. He felt remorse, shame, guilt. It made you think back to the day he sent Tyler to the hospital. He was scared then, too.

"What about the butcher? You didn't mean to hurt him either? He was killed with multiple knives. You did that, you were the only one who could have," you said in a sharp tone.

"I just wanted him to get away. I was defending your mother. You didn't see the way he was talking to her, how he treated her," Michael told you, his voice breaking.

"I can assure you that my mother can take care of herself. She didn't need you to do that for her. You know what she's capable of. Look where you are now, was it worth it?" you asked, raising your brows in question.

"Well, isn't this what you wanted? You wanted me gone. You got your wish, you don't have to worry about me anymore," Michael murmured, a frown marring his features. He looked like a wounded puppy, but even more sad and damaged.

"I knew you were trouble from the moment I met you, and from what I've seen, from what you've showed me, I don't think a cell is going to be able to hold you for long," you told him.

Michael hung his head down low, sniffing loudly. The room had fallen silent again, but then after an agonizingly long moment he finally met your eyes, and didn't even try to hide the shame and regret and the pain that were swimming in his own eyes. And then he said something that shocked you, something that you didn't expect to come from his mouth.

"Can you ever forgive me? Do you think you ever could?" Michael asked, his voice was a pleading, broken whisper.

Your eyes widened just the slightest bit and you were having trouble facing him when he was displaying such raw emotions. He was hurting. He was struggling with this, you could see it in his crumbling face. He was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and he looked like he was just about to fall apart. He was holding his breath, but maybe if you told him what he needed to hear then he would finally be able to exhale. You never thought he would be begging for your forgiveness.

You were at a loss for words. You couldn't scream or berate him when he was like this, because at this point it would just be plain cruel. You couldn't kick him while he was down and pour salt in his wounds. Michael could get your blood boiling like no other, but when he was in this state, you didn't know how to respond. It was a delicate situation, and maybe things weren't as black and white as you initially thought. He was scared and vulnerable, just like any other human.

"I-I don't know," you answered weakly. "I don't know," you repeated.

"I never wanted to come between you and Ms. Mead. It was stupid. It was wrong. I enjoyed feeling wanted, being wanted. I've never felt like that before, so I got greedy. I never wanted you to leave. It just felt good having someone on my side, for once. But I wouldn't hold it against you, if you never forgave me. I deserve that. I am a monster," Michael croaked, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.

You didn't say anything. You didn't know what to say, all you could manage was a sympathetic look and a slight nod.

"There's something happening to me. Something I can't explain. I've always felt it, but it's getting stronger and I don't know what to do, it's consuming," Michael confessed in a stammer.

Somehow, you instantly knew what he meant. You felt it, too. This powerful energy that was flowing through your veins, like a darkness lurking under the surface. You didn't understand it, but you so desperately started to crave it. You wanted to unlock your full potential and see what you were capable of, but at the same time you feared it too.

"I know you feel it too," Michael added. "It's practically radiating from your body now. It's attached to your aura. I can feel it all the way from here, even with the barrier between us. I always do when you're around. You're trying to suppress it, trying to fight it because you don't understand it."

You listened to his words and hated when he could see right through your soul like that. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what the fuck is happening to me. I did something. I did something and I don't think I should have. I should have just let things stay as they were, leave it to the universe, but I intervened and now I feel like an idiot. I'm not cut out for this. Whatever this is, whatever is happening to me. I don't know if I can do it," you started venting all of a sudden without even giving it much thought, for some reason, it felt almost natural after the way he had just opened up to you. You healed Tyler, you thought you did something good, but it came with repercussions and made you question if you were just doing everything wrong.

"What did you do?" Michael asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

Before you were able to answer his question, the guard entered the room. He sternly said, "Time's up."

You looked back at Michael with a lingering gaze, a frown on your mouth. It felt like there was something unspoken that was said and shared through your exchanged meaningful looks. Maybe a kind of understanding. Though you were left wondering what it meant before you said, "Goodbye Michael."

"Goodbye," he whispered, though it was so low and weak you weren't sure if you even heard him right.

He didn't know how to feel about any of what just happened. He wanted you to come back, he wanted to talk, to beg, to understand. He wanted to make that heart wrenching look on your face disappear. He didn't want to continue to be the cause of your pain. Of any of your pain. And you didn't think you could ever forget his sorrowful, heartbroken eyes, and the tears that had welled in them.

When you returned home, you found Miriam crying at the table in the kitchen. Her hands clasped together in prayer. You sat down on the chair next to her and waited for her to open her eyes. Her cheeks had been stained with tears and a small smile graced her face when she saw you.

"What did he say?" you asked.

"What?" Miriam raised her brows, confused.

"Satan," you answered.

"He hasn't answered yet. Satan works in mysterious ways but we are not supposed to question him. I'm going to give it time. I'm leaving it in his hands. May his power run through me and give me the strength to carry on through this turbulent time," Miriam told you, wiping at her tears with her fingers.

"I saw Michael today," you admitted. You felt like you were going to burst if you didn't say anything, you just couldn't keep it to yourself.

"Really?" Miriam gasped in surprise. "I'm shocked. I didn't think you would. I mean I know I've been telling you to, but you never listen to anything I say."

"I just felt like I should talk to him. I wanted to give him a piece of my mind and I wanted to understand, see if he could give me some answers. He's a mess in there," you said, remembering how frightened and helpless he looked.

"I know. I miss him so much. I just want him to come back home," Miriam croaked, her voice wavering. She sniffed and blew her nose. "You didn't go there to yell at him, did you? He's really fragile in there."

"No, I didn't yell at him," you told her.

"Good. He doesn't need any negative energy right now," Miriam said tearfully.

"Mom, I have to ask you something. Why did you choose him over me?" you asked, looking back at her with earnest eyes.

"He's the spawn of Satan. My savior. I could never turn him away, not ever. I have to stand by him until the very end. Michael doesn't have anywhere else to go, this is his only home so it was really unfair of you to try to back me in a corner like that. I knew you would stay with one of your college buddies and I let you make your own decision. You're all grown up now and I couldn't keep you here if you didn't want to stay. I know you can take care of yourself, you hardly need me for anything anymore, so I let you choose your own path," Miriam explained.

"You could have called or texted to check up on me at least," you added.

"Yes, but I know you needed your space, so I gave you that. You needed time to cool off. I know if I called or texted, it would have only made you angry, and you would have just given me an earful," Miriam told you truthfully.

"Yeah, I did need some space from this loony house," you said with a chuckle, half-joking.

"Satan can have a strange sense of humor sometimes, he gave me Michael, then he took you away from me, then he took away Michael, but then you came back. This is all part of his big plan, so I just have to let him do his thing. But Michael will come back to me, just like you did. I just pray that we all remain in good health and that we can all live together in peace," Miriam replied, her hands clasped together.

"It sounds to me like Satan has a fucked up sense of humor," you scoffed, but Miriam shot you a look that told you she was not going to tolerate that kind of language in her house.

"Don't you start with me today," Miriam scolded.

"Mom, there's actually something that I need to tell you," you started.

"What is it?" Miriam asked.

"This is going to sound really weird and I don't even know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it. Something has awakened in me, something really strange and I'm not one hundred percent sure but I'm almost one hundred percent sure, but I think I'm a witch," you blurted out, needing to say the words as fast as possible to get it out of your system. The words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue since you came back home.

"What? Can you repeat that? I didn't catch that," Miriam asked, a puzzled expression on her face.

"I think I'm a witch," you admitted.

"You think you're a witch?" Miriam questioned, eyebrows raised.

You nodded your head in response, albeit nervously.

"I thought they would skip your generation," Miriam mumbled under her breath.

"Wait what?"

"Your father, on his side of the family, had ancestors traced back to Salem. Some of your great grandmothers from years and years ago were witches apparently, and we just thought that you didn't have anything to worry about so we didn't tell you," Miriam explained, making a 'I hope you can forgive me' kind of face.

"You both knew about this? And I'm the last to know?" you faltered, starting to freak out because this was real. Every bit of it.

"We thought we were protecting you, and if nothing happened then we figured you were better off not knowing. Don't just be mad at me, be mad at him, too!" Miriam started.

"It's hard to be mad at a dead man, but I can be mad at you," you told her, releasing a sigh of annoyance.

"I'm sorry! But at least you know now, right?" Miriam said with a cheeky grin.

"Yeah, but knowing beforehand would have been nice. It could have prepared me a little," you whined in frustration.

"Have you started levitating yet? Can you hear people's thoughts? Do you know what I'm thinking right now? Can you reverse aging?" she started nagging you with senseless questions.

"No Mom, I'm still trying to figure everything out," you muttered under your breath.

"You grew up so fast," Miriam whispered, a sad smile on her face. "I remember changing your diapers like it was yesterday and now you're a woman."

"Stop," you told her, not wanting to deal with her sappy story time. "Mom, I think there's something I need to do."

"What's that?" she asked.

"I think I need to go to Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. It's where I'll meet girls like me, they can help me," you started. This had been weighing on your mind for a while now, but it finally started to feel like it was time. It was the only way you were going to be able to learn how to control these newfound abilities.

"But that's all the way in New Orleans. You'd be so far away," Miriam started, concern etched on her features.

"Mom, I've been thinking about this for a while. I think I have to do this," you persisted.

Miriam took a long moment of silence. It was so long in fact that you started to feel uncomfortable and like you were going to have to plead your case, but right when you were about to open your mouth, she nodded her head in response. She needed to give herself some time to process your decision.

"If that's what you think is best, honey. I support you," she said, cupping your cheek in her hand and caressing it lovingly.

"Okay," you whispered.

"I love you, you know that right?" she asked, her face softening.

"Yeah, I think so," you answered.

"I know me and you don't see eye to eye on much, but it doesn't change that. You'll always be my baby," Miriam teared up, getting emotional.

"I love you too, Mom," you told her.

She smiled before placing a kiss on your forehead.

"Raise hell, alright? Do your Devil Mama proud."

And with that, you were on your way.

You rode the bus to head to the airport, and then boarded a plane for New Orleans, Louisiana. Your heart was thumping wildly in your chest the whole ride there. You didn't know what to expect or what it'd be like, you just hoped it would be a safe place for you and that you'd be able to learn everything you needed about this newfound craft.

Looking up at the establishment, you tried to calm your heartbeat. You felt more than a little intimidated. The stark white building was huge and tall, making you feel so small in comparison. _They could probably sense fear._ No, no, okay, no. Thinking things like that would only make you more nervous.

You approached the building cautiously, unsure of how the day would turn out. You were anxious in coming here, but was honestly out of options.

You stood at the door, lingering for a long while, contemplating if this was the right decision or not for you. You sucked in a deep breath. You were scared to knock. What if they didn't accept you? What if they didn't like you? What if they didn't know how to help you? What if you didn't feel comfortable here?

Suddenly, your head was a storm of questions you weren't sure if you wanted answered. You spun back around on your heel, ready to leave and give yourself a few more days to think this through.

But then the door opened.

You turned back around and found a young woman with long and straight dark blonde hair standing in front of the doorway. The warmest smile graced her face, her caramel-colored eyes sparkling.

"Hi. What are you doing waiting out here? Everyone's inside," she smiled softly, opening the door wider for you to come in.

"Is this a bad time? I don't know, I was thinking of coming back," you stammered, feeling really out of your element, almost as if you had forgotten how to speak.

"No, of course not. Why would it be a bad time? I'm Zoe Benson, by the way," she told you, extending her hand out towards you and you shook it, introducing yourself as well.

"You've experienced your first encounter with your powers, haven't you?" Zoe asked, tilting her head to the side curiously. There was a confidence and vibrancy to her, you could tell from the way she conducted herself that she was an experienced witch, that this was something she had been doing for a while now.

You nodded your head.

Zoe guided you inside the building with her hand.

Girls were sitting on the imperial staircase by a large window at its center. Everything around was marble from the floor to the beautiful and elegant statues that lined the path of entry. A grand, crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

The girls stood as you had arrived, they had been previously giggling together and all donned in both black and white clothing.

Your heart was beating like crazy from anxiety and excitement during the entire entrance ceremony, but you did your best to keep your face impassive. It was a beautiful school, one that held promise for any witch who attended.

"Our academy has stood for over two hundred years, enduring the ever-present threat of discovery by cynics and those who fear us, while continuing to refine both its powers and its understanding of our kind. There is no better place in which to learn about the glorious traditions of our magic, no better place to expand your knowledge of the most powerful forces in the world, and certainly no better place in which to realize the advantages of your talent," Zoe said with a wide smile, leaving a silence immediately filled by applause.

"Welcome to Miss Robichaux's Academy," Zoe's voice finished on a proud note.


	7. Blessed Are The Peacemakers

You always felt like your whole life was just one big cycle. Wake up in the morning, go to school, chat with friends, eat, go home, study for several hours and go to sleep.

The cycle would always stay the same, only small details changing every now and then.

You always did feel like you were different from everyone in some degree. Everyone had a talent, something they were good at. They knew what they wanted to do in the distant future, it was the opposite for you. You didn't know who you were or what exactly you were capable of, until now.

You felt like you finally found your place in the world, where you belonged. Here you had a propose.

You had arrived at Miss Robichaux's Academy only two months ago, and you discovered that you were a very fast learner. Thanks to your instructor, Zoe, who was a very patient and skilled teacher, you were able to pass each test and task with flying colors. Zoe taught you to maintain proper posture, and to keep your flustered mess of emotions in check when you were performing magic. You didn't expect it all to come so naturally, but it did which left you pleasantly surprised.

To you, it felt like the fire that was always at your fingertips, but instead of being called to you at will, in short bursts of pain and panic, it was a surrounding warmth. Zoe would proudly praise you to the other teachers and made sure they would witness your acts of success for themselves. You were delighted to be amongst such accomplished and gifted women, to be learning in the school where you met the strongest witch alive and headmistress: Cordelia, your Supreme. It was such an honor and you couldn't help but be in complete awe every time you were in her mere presence. You felt lucky just to be breathing the same air as her. Whenever Zoe called Cordelia to watch you, though, you would become a nervous wreck and nearly mess up whatever spell you had been performing. You couldn't help but want to impress her. You admired her dearly and whenever she gave you words of encouragement and a pat on the back, you were left feeling more accomplished than ever.

You had learned so much in a short amount of time, and you started to look forward to each lesson. Magic was a beautiful and powerful gift. A dangerous weapon when placed in the hands of someone who would misuse it.

"Right in front of you, you can see a dead flower and a book of spells. I want you to find a spell to revive the flower," Zoe instructed.

You looked down at the dead rose on the table, you took it in your hands, brushing your fingers over the harsh edges. It had beauty to it, but it'd be even more beautiful if it was alive.

You exhaled, fully focusing on the energy thrumming inside you, flowing through your veins along with your blood. You let a little bit of it escape from your fingers and pour onto the rose, having no idea what was pushing you to do it, but your effort was rewarded immediately.

It came alive under your influence, unrolling in no time, and a gasp spilled from your lips at the sight. You twirled it in your fingers, watching the green spread and then the red take over the space taken by dull and ashy brown.

You were next to Mallory, she completed the task before you, but you were the second one to finish it, and nevertheless you were proud of yourself. You two shared warm smiles, full of triumph and satisfaction. You looked around the rest of the room and the other witches around you made the air sing with potential energy.

Zoe smiled, her eyes sparkled as she said, "Good. Very good."

Another ability you learned to control was pyrokinesis.

The first time you used pyrokinesis was when you tried to burn some marshmallows because you were craving one and Zoe was there instructing you on how to do it. She was holding the stick of marshmallows up for you but you ended up starting a much bigger flame than you intended and burnt the whole stick which in turn made you nearly burn Zoe's hand, but fortunately she dropped it in the nick of time. You apologized repeatedly to her the moment you realized what you had done but she insisted that it was okay and that you were still learning, getting into the notion of things. Still, you could be such a klutz sometimes and you felt really bad. But she was right, you were learning and your powers were growing and she explained that all of them had their mishaps and blunders especially at the beginning, so it was perfectly normal.

"Now, remember what I taught you," Zoe said, gesturing at you to come closer. "Holds your hands out, palms facing the sky."

You did as she told you.

"Good. Now let go of your fear. Feel the heat in your veins, harness that. Draw out your power from your core."

There were faceless dummies planted on small tables out in the field, and you stood close to Zoe as flames started to wind their way around them. The flames were slowly growing in size, clinging to the material.

"Zoe? Am I doing it right?" you called out.

"You're doing beautifully!" Zoe answered. "Just stay calm and focused, try to get the fire to do something for you," she suggested.

You continued to control the fire, shutting your eyes as you poured all your strength and power into it. You were able to coax your flames to new heights, twisting and shaping them to your will. Your magic sparked with intention, a tingling in your fingertips.

You turned the dummies into ashes which in turn made the flames die out with it. Zoe turned to look at you and gave you a look of approval.

You also knew how to use telekinesis.

You were out on the open field beside your mentor Zoe. She sat against the rock behind her and folded her arms.

"We're going to try something a little more difficult," Zoe started.

"Really?" you asked. "Well, what am I supposed to do?"

"See that large rock over there by the bush?" you looked in the direction she pointed, and nodded. "I want you to be able to lift it and if you can, bring it slowly towards us. But for the moment, I just want to see if you can lift that rock."

"Got it," you said, closing your eyes and letting out a breath of air to relax. Opening your eyes, you focused all your power onto the rock that was about ten yards away from you two.

After a moment you felt your powers grasp it, your hands opened towards the rock, and with your mind you pushed. Your eyebrows knitting in concentration as the rock was really heavy. At first, the rock did nothing but shake, and you raised your hands towards the rock and pushed harder to move it.

"Always remember, the most minor distraction, the slightest tremor of your hands can deter you from completing your goal. You must always remain focused and keep a clear head because before you know it, with enough repetition of course, you won't even have to think about it, it'll be instant and come naturally," Zoe explained.

Zoe watched both the shaking rock and your actions. She knew that one day you would be able to lift the rock and other heavy things with as much ease as it did to take you to lift a fork telekinetically.

Once again, you focused all your energy to try and levitate the rock. It finally moved upwards but very quickly, causing you to be jerked out of your concentration and fall on your butt, which caused the rock to be thrown upwards. As your powers lost the control of it, gravity kicked in and caused the rock to smash into the ground.

"Wow," you stared at the rock which had smashed into several large pieces when it hit the ground.

Zoe clapped as she walked towards you. "Really good job, for a first timer, I believe. Here," Zoe held her hand out for you to take it. You smiled up at her and took her hand.

"Thanks," you said, you stood up and brushed off the dirt on your uniform.

"So, all you have to do is keep practicing that for a while then you'll be able to move other heavy objects as well. Ready to try again?" Zoe asked.

You looked at her and nodded. Zoe smiled and went back to leaning against the rock beside you.

Magic wasn't something just everyone could learn. It was an art, or a science, depending on who you asked, but it wasn't for the masses, and it came with the duty to use it for the community to the best of your abilities.

Of course you would never be able to remain as impeccably composed, as perfectly in control as she was, but you did try your best. You did put effort into willing your hands to do exactly as Zoe said and into steadying your pounding heartbeat and beating down the haunting thoughts that you were not good enough, not skilled enough, that you would never, ever make this spell work.

To relax, you took a few deep breaths for a moment. Once again, you opened your eyes and focused all your power to grasp another rock. This time you succeeded faster than the first time to grasp it. Like you usually did, you had your arms down by your sides with your hands open. Concentrating, you mentally commanded the rock to rise. Slowly, but surely, with your mind completely focused on it, the rock moved upwards. Still focused on the object, you mentally pulled it towards you.

As your mind tried to center your concentration on keeping the rock moving slowly and up in the air a few feet, you felt the drain, but you didn't let it stop you. You were able to set it down on the grass, bringing it much closer than it was before.

"Very nice, I knew you could do it!" Zoe said with a soft laugh.

You smiled back and exhaled deeply. You could do this. Anything was possible, now.

You were only at the academy for a week when Miriam called you to inform you that a warlock had broke Michael out of jail and brought him to a place called Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men. So that was where his dark magic came from? And he was like you? But a warlock? It wasn't surprising news, but you were very much aware of the darkness in him, and you started to become a little worried what he would do if he was being trained to harvest that kind of energy.

You decided to focus on your training for a while, trying to will him out of your head, though you would be lying if you said it was easy. Most days that was where he stayed, lingering where he wasn't wanted.

Then one day, after a training lesson, you heard Myrtle Snow, speaking with Zoe and Cordelia about how the Hawthrone School for Exceptional Young Men called an emergency council meeting. They were obliged to get on a plane immediately. You couldn't help but wonder what it was about. A feeling of dread washed over you as they left, you didn't know why exactly, but for some reason you got the sense that it was about Michael.

When they returned from the council meeting, you heard Cordelia and Myrtle arguing in Cordelia's room. Myrtle sounded very upset, she was raising her voice, screaming with total abandon. At first you couldn't make out what they were saying, but when you pressed your ear against the door to listen in, you were able to catch something about the Seven Wonders test.

"How could you agree to allow a male to attempt the Seven Wonders?" Myrtle snarled in disgust.

"What?" you mouthed to yourself. "What the fuck?"

A male attempting the Seven Wonders? You never heard of such a thing. You couldn't believe your ears. This couldn't be happening. It was absolutely preposterous. No man has ever been tasked to complete the Seven Wonders nor could he ever be powerful enough to become the Supreme.

"I've seen what's ahead. Carnage. The end of the world. My girls... dead. I'm scared, Myrtle. What if it's my hubris, my inability to cede my position to this boy that leads us down this dark path? I will not put my own selfish desires before the coven," Cordelia stressed.

The arguing continued and you kept listening.

"It was Michael who brought Queenie back, and Madison. You cannot deny his power," Cordelia told Myrtle.

What? What did you hear just now?

The human voodoo doll witch that was stuck in Hotel Cortez? Michael brought her back? Cordelia, the Supreme, couldn't even save her. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all. Michael must have saved Queenie to prove something, to prove that he was more powerful than Cordelia. It didn't take a genius to piece that together. He wouldn't do that out of the goodness of his heart. You knew Michael. You started to think that maybe you should try to warn Cordelia, warn her about Michael.

"All I ask is that you delay the test," Myrtle pleaded.

"There's no time. I'm fading. My powers are leaving me. I've been growing weaker. I feel it. I'm dying," Cordelia whispered, her voice breaking.

"Oh my god," you whispered to yourself, in shock. No, you and your sisters needed Cordelia. There wasn't anyone as fit to be the Supreme as Cordelia. You couldn't imagine anyone else with that title.

"What are you doing?"

A soft and low voice came from behind you.

You whipped your head back, your eyes widened and your mouth agape. You were caught listening to their conversation.

It was Mallory. The witch who held much promise and potential and your very close friend. She welcomed you into the academy with open arms and she had always been so kind to you, always there to lend a hand whenever you needed it. You two had grown quite close over your days here and had supported one another through your triumphs and failures, through thick and thin. If you were struggling with a spell or needed advice on anything, magic related or not, she was there. It was nice to have someone to lean on, someone you could count on.

"Oh, I was just – I was looking for the bathroom, I thought–"

"You've been here for two months now, you know where the bathroom is," Mallory told you matter-of-factly.

"Okay, you caught me," you admitted in defeat. "I was listening."

Mallory chuckled a little, amused with your embarrassment. "Relax, it's okay."

"I'm sorry. It was dumb and rude of me. I was just wondering what happened after the meeting," you said honestly.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to rat you out. We all get a little curious sometimes. I was just going to let her know that her two o'clock is here," Mallory answered.

"Okay, I'll leave you to that," you said and she walked past you, entering the room to speak with Cordelia.

Now wasn't the time to tell them about Michael. But when would it ever be the right time to do so? You were now stuck in a compromising position. You didn't know what to do. Fear and uncertainty gripped your heart.

There was only one thing you could do.

Try to stop Michael from taking the Seven Wonders test. At least, confront him about it. It was a stab in the dark but it was better than just standing by and doing absolutely nothing. There wasn't much else you could do at this point.

Later that day, you had lied to your sisters that there was a family emergency back home and that you were needed there so you would be gone for a little while. You didn't want to just disappear, that would seem suspicious.

Unbeknownst to your sisters, you were headed to the Hawthrone School.

The inside of the building was illuminated by candles. It had two floors, connected by a spiral staircase, where the lower floor had a dining room and a fireplace room, and the upper floor was where the dorms and suites were. You figured Michael was in one of those but you didn't know which one so that was when you went to one of the wards who was reading in the dining room.

"I'm looking for Michael Langdon, do you know where he is?" you asked the young timid boy who had his head in a book.

"Girls aren't allowed in here," the boy said with a stutter, looking uncomfortable in your presence.

"Relax, I'm not going to give you cooties. I just need to talk to him and then I'll be on my way. I swear," you said, annoyance in your tone.

"Uh, he's in room #66," he answered awkwardly.

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes at that. _Really_? It was no surprise though.

"Thanks," you grumbled before making your way upstairs.

You walked down the hallway and found several rows of doors. You stopped in your tracks for a moment and pressed your body back against the wall. You were nervous. You hadn't seen him in a little while. You didn't know what to expect.

You closed your eyes and focused on keeping your twitchy fingers still, your face composed. It wasn't any easier behind closed eyes, because etched on the back of your lids were images of him. Images you hated, but thrived on in that moment.

You thought about his intense dark eyes and high cheekbones. You thought about his hands, which you were certain must be soft. He certainly hadn't done a day of hard labor in his life to warrant anything else. His childish mannerisms made your blood boil, tendrils of frustration and resentment crawled under your skin whenever he so much as smirked at you. You didn't want to see him, but you told yourself that you had to. For the sake of your coven, nothing else, nothing more.

You released a breath to calm your nerves and then continued walking. When you made it in the double digits, you were quick to find the room #66.

You knocked on the door, tapping your foot impatiently as you waited.

The door opened and it was Michael who answered it. He was in a uniform. He was wearing a black coat with a plain white shirt underneath, an inner vest with a thin black bow tie around the neckline, and slacks. The uniform looked good on him, which you didn't find to be a surprise whatsoever. You found yourself gazing at his body for a moment too long but then you caught yourself and then acted as if it never happened, meeting his eyes with a burning intensity.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Michael asked, a vile little smirk playing on his lips.

"We need to talk," you said with a solemn expression as you stood at his doorstep, straight to the point.

Michael simply smiled, that same damned smug smile on his face that was all too familiar to you. He lifted his head and gave a barely there nod. The smile he graced you with both sent a thrill straight to your groin and pissed you off at the same time.

You were so not looking forward to this talk.


	8. Dance with the Devil

You brushed past him and entered the room without asking permission. Michael closed the door behind him, turning back to you.

"It's nice to see you too," Michael answered sarcastically, an amused glint in his eye, and Christ, if you hadn't wanted to beat him before you certainly did now. You noticed that he was examining what you were wearing, which was the black dress you bought at the mall.

"You're wearing it. The black dress seems to suit you even more now that you've realized who you are," Michael remarked.

Your cheeks flushed in response to his comment but you simply ignored it, and crossed your arms over your chest. "You can't take the Seven Wonders test," you told him bluntly, getting straight to the point.

"And why is that?" Michael asked, sounding deceptively calm. He took a daring step towards you. "Does the idea of a man taking the test intimidate you?"

He was being a smart ass now.

"A man has never been the Supreme and could never be one. It's just not going to happen. It won't ever happen. Better to realize that now instead of making an embarrassment of yourself," you stated, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Is that what your sisters are telling you? Your coven? They don't think I'm worthy?" Michael said it the same way he delivered his threats, flat and casual. He studied you with those heavy dark eyes, meeting your own and holding it for longer than was comfortable, but you knew better than to back down.

"You're not. You don't deserve that title. You would be our undoing. I won't let you ruin everything," you spat.

"You don't get to decide that. In the history of the coven there's never been a level four warlock, and I just happen to be that. A level four warlock is as powerful as a female Supreme, strong enough to be the alpha, stronger than Cordelia," Michael bragged, his smirk broadening. He kept unwavering eye contact, the room was suddenly filled with a palpable tension.

"You could never take her place," you snapped, your tone was sharp.

"She saw what I could do. I saved Queenie from the Hotel Cortez. I saved Madison from her own personal hell. I've done what Cordelia couldn't, and yet here you are, still doubting me," Michael explained in an almost bored tone. He didn't appear to be impressed, perturbed, or insulted in any way. "In two weeks, in the rise of the blood moon, I'll be taking the Seven Wonders test, whether you like it or not."

"No, you're not going through with this. I can't let you do it. I won't let you," you told him with a glower.

"I don't need your permission," he said, the corner of his mouth curling up in an almost feline smirk.

You scoffed. "How do you think they would react if I told them about you? If I told them about what you are? The awful, horrible things you've done? How you use your magic for darkness? Do you think they would still let you take the test?" you questioned, challenging him.

Michael laughed, just a droplet of deep-throated amusement before he answered, "You wouldn't. You would have to share everything, how you met me in the first place, where I was staying at, which happened to be your place. Your mother is involved, too, would you want to drag her in another one of your messes? They would start to distrust you, too. I don't see how that would work in your favor."

"Don't underestimate me, Michael. I'll do what I have to. I don't care what happens to me, I care what happens to my coven," you hissed.

"And it wouldn't be wise to underestimate me, either. I could turn your little coven into a pile of ashes if I so pleased and there wouldn't be a damn thing you could do about it," Michael threatened, but it was masked under a calm voice.

"Fuck you, Michael. You think you can do whatever the fuck you want and get away with it? You think you're hot shit now that you've gained control of your powers?" you cursed.

The anger was boiling in your veins. You could feel it turning your blood to fire beneath your skin, your heart hammering away at your chest. You wanted to hit him, no, you wanted to do much worse than that. Your fists tingled with the heated urge, you were tired of the arrogant, condescending fearlessness he exuded.

Michael truly enjoyed a challenge. Perhaps a little too much.

"You've seen first hand what I can do," Michael stated, "what I'm capable of. And if I ever need anything I have my father to guide me."

"What happened to the scared little boy who didn't know what to do with himself? The one who was locked up? The one who was begging for my forgiveness?" you said, hoping to get a rise out of him.

His blue eyes had gone cold, calculating, dangerous as he looked back at you, a strange flame flickering in those icy depths. You knew how to strike a nerve.

"I found my purpose. I found what I was born to do," Michael answered.

"Which is what?" you asked.

"You'll see. It starts with my reign as Supreme," Michael said boldly.

"You're not going to be the fucking Supreme," you snarled.

"So hostile, so tense, you should lighten up," Michael observed. "I can't wait to see the look on your face when I pass that test."

"You won't," you said and jerked away as his hand reached for a lock of hair hanging in front of your face. You held his gaze, your insides knotting under the inquisitiveness of Michael's icy blue eyes.

"Well, as they say, seeing is believing, and I will make you believe," Michael cooed in a sultry tone. Gradually he stepped forward, each step he took forced you to back away, until your back was pressed against the wall.

"No, you won't," you gritted through your teeth, hating how you allowed him to corner you, nonetheless. Michael closed the distanced in, arms on either side of your waist. He stared at you for a moment. Two. Three. A dangerous smirk danced on his features. You glanced down at your hands, which had been fidgeting of their own accord with restless abandon the whole time.

"I will. I'll be the new Supreme and you'll have to do exactly what I say from now on," he leaned in and whispered in your ear, his mocking retort echoing down your neck. "I want to hear you call me your Supreme," he added, a cruel smile plastered across his face, clearly drunk with power now that he seemingly had the greatest threat to his rule, which was your Supreme, completely at his mercy, or so he thought.

"Like hell I would," you said, you made a move to raise your hand but he grabbed your wrist and pushed your arm on the wall. He gripped your wrist firmly and in the chaos of shaking heartbeats and adrenaline rushing through your veins like wild fire, you didn't know what your next move was going to be. "Stay away from me, Michael," you hissed and pushed at his chest with your other arm. He, on the other hand, just chuckled.

"Last I checked, you're the one who just waltzed right in here, thinking you could sway me," Michael said, his smirk was still there, lingering. Letting go of your arm he took a step back, looking you up and down with hunger in his eyes, and a looming trace of something else.

You and Michael never seemed to cooperate when it came to arguments, because it was as though you never intended to actually put an end to them, but just to make your own point against one another. Your arguments didn't follow a path, they unfolded chaotically and very often swerved off topic. There were times where at some point you two would even forget why you were fighting in the first place, but neither of you were ever willing to admit defeat and point out the absurdity of the whole thing, so you just kept arguing till one of you lashed out and the chances of killing each other got too close.

It was a very risky game you played; your senseless bickering was surely in danger of exploding with the tension between you two, eventually.

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, so I have to take measures into my own hands. Now, if you'll excuse me, there's something I need to tell Cordelia," you scoffed and pushed forward, to leave. But then again Michael was the spawn of Satan. He gave you freedom for only a second and now he took it back, pressing you back, keeping you between his body and the wall.

"That's an empty threat, it doesn't hold any weight," Michael told you, unfazed.

"What?" you asked, raising your brows. You looked up at his large looming frame, overwhelmed by the closeness.

"You're not going to do that. You're scared of the consequences. You don't want the truth to come out, because if it does, you won't be part of their little coven anymore," Michael continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, seeing right through your soul. "I can feel it from the thumping of your heart," he said. "The heart never lies," his fingers tapped your chest, right over your heart.

"You don't know shit," you gave him a defiant look and stood up, approaching him––rebuking him, challenging him, forcing him to strengthen his grip. You didn't soften your expression, not even an iota. You shortened the distance between you two, your torso almost touching his and your perfume teasing his nostrils. Two could play that game, you seemed to think with that provocation.

"You could never get away with lying to me. I'd always know," Michael taunted in a drawl. His pale blue eyes were intently locked on yours and remained there for what felt like an excruciating eternity.

"Shut up," you barked at him.

"Make me," Michael countered.

He was, without doubt, the most odious man you had ever personally encountered, but was it just you, or did his skin look especially soft in this light? It also didn't escape you the way the shafts of light fell strategically upon the attractive angles of his face. Oh shit. You weren't supposed to be thinking things like that.

They always said that the Devil could be charming, that he could tempt even the purest of souls to damnation with a mere whisper of promise.

Your breath was suddenly and embarrassingly hard to draw and you couldn't help but notice that his full lips were hovering in the vicinity of your own. You had thought you were stronger than this. You had been so sure that you would never yield to that wretched creature's will.

But then you looked into the depths of his eyes, the darkness in them, and you were enthralled by it.

For a long time, longer than you would have wanted, you two stayed there, staring each other down in silence.

You were struggling. With every second that ticked by, you itched to reach out and touch his skin. Just once, you told yourself. Just once to stop the itching. It would be easier to give in, you knew, if he wasn't who he was. The Antichrist. Devil's spawn. You didn't want to believe it to be true, but everything seemed to affirm it one way or another. If he had one––just one––redeeming feature you might have been able to succumb in clear conscience.

Unfortunately it felt like time was running out and you were drawing a blank. With the exception of his high attractiveness quotient, which you had been trying to pretend wasn't there for the longest time, you couldn't find a thing.

Maybe it was just what you were telling yourself.

There were times you saw flashes of humanity in him, such as his reaction when he hurt your friend, or when Miriam told you the story of how he was panicking when he killed the butcher, or when you visited him in jail. It was there, you just didn't want to believe it was. There was more to him than you realized. Sometimes you really couldn't figure him out.

The low rush of his breath mingled with your own. He breathed against your lips and your chests touched. He leaned over with arms braced on either side of you, and you glanced up at him, scarcely an inch from you, your gaze hovering over him for a moment, tracing the strong line of his jaw, roaming over his broad shoulders.

His strong nose brushed against the tip of yours and your skin popped with an intense tingling sensation. His thick lashes lowered and rested against hollowed cheekbones and you felt a momentary spark of envy that they weren't your own.

Then it happened so quickly. Michael pulled you in closer and crushed his lips to yours. You hesitated, your mind going completely blank at his sudden audacity before reeling back and punching him with as much force as you could muster.

Michael was knocked backwards, his eyes wide with confusion and rage as he held his nose. "I think you broke it!" he yelled out.

You smirked, glad to have the upper hand again as you sauntered over to him, waving your hand over his face and mending the wound with the healing magic you had much more experience using since you were welcomed at the academy. After a few seconds, no one would have known that you had busted his beautiful face.

"Let that be a lesson," you suggested, dusting yourself off and turning around. "That was for all your smart ass comments and thinking you can become the Supreme."

"I thought, perhaps, you needed another _outlet_ to vent your frustration," he purred from behind you, sending chills down the length of your spine. You attempted to ignore him, shaking your hands out.

"You thought wrong," you said simply, keeping your back to him so he couldn't see you letting your mind wander into territory you dared not tread into.

"Really?" he whispered into your ear, allowing his nose to trail its length until your skin had pebbled all over your body. "I get this _feeling_ you might be lying to me."

You turned around, bracing yourself with the wall behind you as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn't the first time he had attempted to seduce you, and you knew if you walked out that door in this moment, it wouldn't be the last. "What makes you think I want that?" you asked, your eyes hardening.

Michael's lips drew into a seductive half smile as he trailed one hand up your arm, his touch feather light, yet setting a blaze in their wake. "You don't _want_ this. You _need_ it. You are wound tighter than a coil."

You grabbed his hand, holding him in place before he dared to take his gentle caress further. "And what makes you think I _want_ you?" you sneered, pushing his hand off you and regaining what little control you still had before passion took over.

This seemed to spark a flame in his eyes as his lips curled into a cruel smile. He leaned in, dragging his nose against the outline of your jaw, leading to your ear. "I know you haven't been able to stop thinking about me. You've missed me, but you won't dare say it out loud, to anyone, not even to yourself. It's part of the reason why you came here today, actually the main reason. The Seven Wonders test was just an excuse. You can let go. I'm not going to bite," he said as he nipped your ear. His words should have snapped you out of it, should have made you think about what you were doing. Instead, it sent a thrilled jolt of anticipation straight to your core. And you would claim to your dying day that it was the little huff of warm air alone that did it, but in reality, it was everything.

The timbre of his voice, the ghosting of his lips over the shell of your ear, the way he said your name. He didn't have to touch you at all beyond that and you were already fighting the urge to beg for more.

His hand trailed down, dragging across your chest, between your breasts, making your breath come faster. Almost against your own volition, you arched into his touch.

You shuddered against him, your body betraying you when all you wanted was to beat his head into a wall. You found yourself weakening under his touch, your anger and rage boiling beneath the surface. You hated him in this moment, but you needed him and his promise as much as you needed your next breath. You grabbed his face, forcing his gaze to your eyes. You battled with your inner demons, thinking about every bad thing that was attached to this very man. At the same time, you wanted him to pin you down on that soft mattress that stood on the other side of the room and fuck you to the point where the bed became busted, the box spring support of the bed caving in on itself.

He made the first move because you had been too in your own head to do it yourself. His lips molded to yours, crushing them and bruising them, and you returned his passion equally. Your hands reached for his hair, pulling it hard and you relished in the quiet gasp of surprise he emitted from it. His mouth was warm and captivating and commanding, his tongue laying claim with sweeping pulls, and your own tentatively caressed it in reply. Adrenaline hummed in your veins and tingled all the way to your fingertips and you wondered how on earth you could have contemplated not giving in.

You both battled for control of the kiss, teeth and tongues aggressive and somehow still sensual, like the caress of silk and velvet, and you felt giddiness pooling in your stomach. You pulled him closer, hands moving and touching wherever, whatever, they could reach. And his were doing the same. They were warm, soft as you had known they would be, and they brushed a trail along your skin, raising fine hairs in their path.

The perpetual bickering, the heat-filled gazes, the fleeting touches lit with sparks–––these were all that you two had allowed. This constant repression had only built up a thundering volcano of lust between you two that had been threatening to erupt for so long. And now? After all that, here you both were so overwhelmed with pent-up longing that you didn't know where to start.

"So I win," Michael whispered. It wasn't a question. It was a statement made in confidence, one that dripped with arrogance and made you want to punch him again.

A roaring sounded in your ears, as he lowered his body to press it snug against your own. You heard a voice muttering inanely as his clever mouth moved along your jaw, leaving kisses as it went. Warm breath tickled behind your hair, and then his tongue touched your pulse point and you heard the voice again. Only this time you realized it was your own.

You realized you had been floating somewhere above reality because you heard him laugh softly and mutter, "Stay with me, angel, try and keep up," before turning your face to his again.

He tasted so good, you thought. His mouth was sweet and mesmerizing. You wanted to drown in it. He lifted his mouth from yours, kissing his way across your jaw and down the slope of your neck. Just below your ear he paused and bit down. You groaned and rocked yourself against him where your pelvis pressed against his lower stomach, your hips lifted almost of their volition. You were already aching, and the sensation of him as you ground your bodies together was enough to leave you needing more.

You were going to hell, there was no doubt in your mind. This was the ultimate sin. You were sure you would never be forgiven for this.

His own hands reached up to grasp at your breasts, thumbing your tightening nipples through the fabric of your dress while he plucked at the peak of one breast before palming its full weight. His teeth bit none-too-gently into your collarbone, and you groaned out loud.

Michael unzipped your black dress, pulling it from your body and tossing it on the floor. He then unhooked the black bra that held your supple breasts in place before dragging his teeth against your sensitive flesh. He didn't hesitate to seize one plump breast in his mouth, teeth biting into you as you cried out in both pain and pleasure. He blew a stream of air over it, and you keened out a wail, a sound that was equal parts need and aggravation. It made him smile, and he pressed those smiling lips over your skin. He rewarded that sound, and the mewl afterwards, with the rasp of his tongue across your flesh.

You watched the top of his head move against you as he worked his way along your chest, leaving marks in his path. He heard the involuntary hiss of breath from you, and swirled his tongue around the nipple. You were so warm against him, so vibrant, full of pushing and pulling and tension and fire. He lost himself in your scent, sucking and nipping at your breasts.

You pulled at his clothes until he allowed you to remove them, you started with his coat and vest, the white shirt underneath, then his bow tie which grew to be an annoyance to get rid of, revealing a surprisingly well toned body beneath. He didn't allow you the pleasure of viewing it for long before he crushed himself against you, kissing you and tugging on your lower lip while your nails bit into his shoulders.

You were panting, your body tensing with the desire and need he had set aflame within you as you pushed him backward. With your arm separating you two, you pressed him back, your hand splayed on his remarkable chest until he hissed against the cold contact of the wall. "Think we should take this to the bed? Or would you prefer to take me here?" you purred against him, biting his neck and marking him.

Michael grabbed a handful of your hair, yanking it back until you were looking up at the tall ceiling, exposing the length of your throat. There was nothing gentle in the way he held you in place, one hand at your head and the other digging into the flesh of your ass while he pulled at your tight peaks with his teeth. "I wasn't aware you wanted to make love," he said in between bites.

Make love. That was laughable. No. This was just a means to an end, to erase the distraction and need to be mindless for once in your goddamned life.

"Fuck off, can't I be comfortable?" you spat.

Michael released a puff of a laugh at that. He gazed back at you, your skin practically glowing with need in the dim lighting of his room. He picked you up, surprising you with his strength, and allowed you to wrap your legs around him as he took you over to the queen-sized bed. Then his hands were tugging at your stockings, pulling them down along with your panties until you were completely bare against him.

You turned your back and leaned over, getting on all fours and then spreading your legs, giving Michael the pure and unadulterated view of everything you had to offer. You would not let this get personal, at least not more personal than it already was. Your laid your breasts flat against the cool sheets and arched your bottom up to him in offering.

Michael licked his lips and swallowed, his throat bobbing in appreciation as he let out a whispered 'fuck'. He ran his hands up your thighs, leaving pink lines from his nails over your skin in a slightly sadistic manner and making you shiver. Quickly he stripped himself of his pants and pressed his palm against the warmth of your sex, audibly groaning as your desire wet his fingers. He knew you needed this, he just hadn't realized how _badly._

"Well? Get on with it," you ordered, rubbing yourself against him and trembling at his touch. Your chin trembled, your body ached, desperate for more, so much more than those teasing touches.

He was spellbound as he dragged his fingers through your slick folds. Your back arched beautifully as you attempted to grant him better access to your quivering depths. There was no need to prepare you, you were ready for him, and you wanted him now.

He bent over your back and nestled his throbbing cock against your entrance. "I want you to tell me what you need," he ordered, holding you in place and leaving you completely at his mercy.

"You know what I need," you whimpered, your muscles straining and shaking.

"Say it, angel. I need you to _say it_ ," he commanded into your ear, pulling at the lobe with his teeth.

You struggled against him, against whatever inner demons you were fighting, nearly spending what strength you hadn't used in your long discussion earlier in the endeavor. Michael was patient though, oh so patient despite his shaft demanding to plunge into your quivering cleft. He had waited this long, priming you for this moment with every screaming match, every snarky remark, every appreciative glance. He was the only one to see you for what you were. A powerful witch that needed to be challenged rather than praised at every whim. A beautiful creature that needed someone to bring out the best in you while appreciating what you naturally had to offer. You needed someone to push you past your limits, forcing you to better yourself for the difficult road that lay ahead of you. You just didn't know that. Not yet.

"Fine. Michael, I need you to fuck me," you insisted, your eyes hardening as you glanced at him from their corners. His face twisted into a winning smile, hardly believing he had been able to push his luck into making you yield twice to him in a single day.

"As you wish, angel," he whispered against you, satisfaction blossomed across his face, almost more relieved than arrogant. The gentle purr of your name was a stark contrast to the hard thrust as he entered you. You cried out and threw your head back as you felt his cock effortlessly slide into you, not caring if anyone heard you as Michael aggressively plunged into you, holding you in place with his hand fisted in your hair and the other hand gripping into the swell of your hip.

"Fuck! Oh my god!" you moaned out, your arms steadying you against the bed sheets while you arched your back to give him better access. Michael was punishing, hard, cruel, as he slammed into you. It hurt, but the pain always gave way to the building pleasure.

"Tsk tsk, not exactly, but I'll let it slide," Michael taunted with a chuckle. But you were barely able to register his words through the haze of your desire, though if you could piece together a coherent response you would surely throw something back at him.

His unforgiving thrusts coupled with the harsh bites on your shoulders brought you higher than you had ever been in such a short time that made you think that magic had to be involved. When you began to squirm, he withdrew and held you steady for a moment before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He pulled you up by your hair, bringing another desperate moan to your lips as the fingers that had surely bruised your hips trailed their way to your breast, pulling and teasing at the tight peak while he continued pressing into you. You leaned back against his chest, your hair mixing with his as you begged for his lips. He granted them to you, allowing you to bite them. And you did, hard enough to draw blood, but it didn't slow him, nor hinder him from untangling his fingers from your hair. His hand slid around your throat, bringing an unknown thrill as you wondered if he would attempt to choke you.

And he did, much to your gratification. He curled his hand around your throat, careful not to crush your trachea, desire and anticipation clear in your features. He squeezed tighter, watching your breath hitch for a moment as he slammed into you with his full length. Your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as your body buzzed with pleasure.

"You should see how beautiful you are," he said in a breathy whisper.

Slowly, he pulled all the way out, teasing you, before pushing all the way back. He started to set a lazy rhythm, all of a sudden, not quite giving it to you as hard as he knew you wanted. You rocked with the rhythm he set, slow and harsh, but you wanted more.

"Look at you," he continued, pulling another moan out of you with his merciless movements. "Radiant, glowing."

Your hand strayed to your clit but he moved it away, pausing to ball it in the sheets instead and pinned the other to your body as he held you in place.

He continued at this pace for several long minutes, knowing it was driving you wild. He wanted to see you beg, see you crumble and fall apart before him. His shallow thrusts sped up, his body focusing on your every movement and reaction, knowing you were not getting the pleasure you so desperately craved. He rocked into you teasingly, giving two short sharp thrusts that had you whimpering and body squirming, making him smirk.

"And so soft. Tender," he added in a murmur.

Hips rolled forward, one hand choking you, the other holding onto your hip. He was staring down between your heated bodies, watching his cock appear and disappear into your heat over and over again. You could only imagine what it looked like, how swollen you must have been, how it must look being split open by his cock with each turn of his hips. He was biting his lip while staring intently, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, earning a smirk before his hand tightened just enough around your neck, the hand on your hip moving to your hair, giving it a rough tug to tilt your head back as he leaned forward, his thrusts now hitting a spot they didn't before, making you moan and whimper and cry out.

He quickened his hips and pressed harder on your neck, constricting enough air whilst still letting you breathe. He leaned down and gave you a salacious kiss before pulling back and finding your eyes with his.

"Do you want it harder?" he accentuated his words with a hard thrust. The movement rocked your body, and you could barely contain a hungry moan.

You made a clumsy effort to nod and let your head fall back on his shoulder, unable to find the words.

"What was that, angel? Didn't quite catch that," he drawled, voice low as he smirked down at you. "Beg me for it."

You whimpered impatiently, bucking your hips up against his own. The more you wanted it, the more he wanted to hold out on you. In the end, he knew it would only heighten both of your pleasure.

"Fuck me harder," you managed to articulate slowly. His hand pressed further into your throat, drawing an enticing gasp from you. "Please," you begged breathlessly.

Michael was all too happy to oblige, his own formidable restraint being tested. He slammed into you, hard and rough, ever careful to keep his fingers around your throat steady, smoothing over your skin with just the right amount of pressure to be a promise instead of a threat. He slid deep inside you, so slick now, so easily.

His long fingers made their way to the 'v' of your thighs, circling around the bundle of nerves nestled there.

"And you said you didn't need this," he smirked against your ear, slicking your wetness from where you two were connected back to your throbbing clit. Michael was relentlessly pounding you as his fingers rubbed at your clit, drawing tight circles as he pressed deeper, the sound of his heavy breathing and the unholy sound of your bodies mashing together being drowned out by your loud moaning.

He bucked into you with blind, animalistic lust, making you roll your eyes back into your head. You could only hold on and arch to meet him as a whirlwind of sensation assaulted your nerves. He surged in and out of you, tearing pleasure from you in an almost violent way. He whispered worship into your skin one second, then bit down roughly enough to hurt the next. He stroked, so carefully, so steadily, in and out, never changing speed or adding another finger. It was torture, and his hold on your body – across your ribs with his whole arm, meant you could only get so much movement on your own now.

But it was working. You could feel the tension building, winding and coiling in your core again. Tighter now than it had been before, more desperate, you had to have more. Your breath came raw now and you couldn't help but beg him to keep going.

You bit back a shout at the pleasure that was coming to a crescendo within you as you surrendered to him. You were so close, so close.

Suddenly, he pulled away, making you cry out at the unexpected emptiness you felt. The sound you made when he stopped was a mix of desperation and frustration. You jerked upward in an attempt to find any stimulation at all. Nothing but cool air greeted you but then Michael flipped you over on the bed. You tried to go back to the impersonal position from before, but he crawled over your body and pinned your arms down. His icy blue eyes were burning with the flames of his own desire as his mouth pressed in a hard line. Your body echoed this need, your legs falling open though the last thing you wanted was for him to watch you like this. He took your invitation, slamming into you and swallowing your cries with a passionate kiss.

When he was sure he could trust you not to change position, he released his bruising grip on your wrists and steadied himself above you. Your legs wrapped around him, your heels digging harshly into the small of his back, urging him on while your nails bit into the flesh of his shoulders.

He could feel your body tensing, your release just breaths away and his own not far behind. You kept your eyes closed and your faced turned to the side, bringing a rage Michael had not been prepared for to the surface. He grabbed your face and turned it to him, glaring at you for all he was worth as you tried to look away.

"Look at me," he demanded, his fingers fisting in your hair as your body tightened around him. He was so close to sweet release, but it wouldn't do if you weren't even able to face him.

"No," you resisted, shutting your eyes when he made you face him.

"You're so _fucking_ close," he grimaced, holding himself back. "At least say my name," he ordered. He was pushing the last of his luck, and he knew it, but damn if he wasn't going to try.

"Please! Oh please!" you begged, writhing beneath him, your body trembling as you clung to the edge.

"Say. My. Name," he demanded, thrusting hard with each word. "I want to watch you come apart for me, angel. I want _my_ name on _your_ lips when I make you come."

Two fingers framed your clit and slid up and down between it, swollen to the point of misery, and your aching heat was straining for release. Your eyes shot open and you faced him now with heavily lidded eyes.

You called his name again, half-cut off as he thrust up deeper into you and you responded in kind, grinding against him, relief on your face and in the pace he set. This time, the build-up was almost instant, the angle perfect, the pace feverish, his hand back around your throat, squeezing and holding you in place as he added pressure.

"Please, please, please," you begged him, your voice not above a whisper, never breaking eye contact with him as he pounded into you, his fingers digging hard into your skin.

Michael held you there, staring into your eyes and watching as he made your walls come down. You were vulnerable, so beautifully vulnerable to him in this moment as his name fell from your lips, that he couldn't have held back no matter how hard he tried. You could tell he was getting closer, his thrusts were becoming more erratic, and the length of him was pulsing inside you.

Your body bowed beneath him, shaking as your climax finally claimed you. When you came, hard and shuddering and wet, there was no sound to be heard but a ragged whimper of his name. As the orgasm shot through you, relief and bliss and agony causing your whole body to tense, shiver, and then relax against him. He kept going for another few strokes until he lifted you away, his last movements were mindless and full of abandon as he came, surprising himself as he moaned your name just as he pushed himself over the edge.

Harsh breathing was the only sound for several minutes as his grip on you slipped away, the hand around your neck going lax and moving up to cradle your cheek. You shifted, easing your numb legs into a more comfortable position before turning to drape your arms around his neck.

Anything you did afterwards became a complete haze in your fogged up mind, your eyes were heavy and you were hardly conscious of your own body at this point. Though, you vaguely remembered melting against the warmth of his body.

Several hours had passed, the morning sun was peeking through the blinds and illuminated you in a set of golden stripes. You furrowed your brow at the unwelcome light and brought your hand to your head. It was pounding with such force you thought your brain would break right through your skull.

Then you opened your eyes and awoke with a jolt when you realized where you were.

You were still in his bed. Your eyes scanned your surroundings before you pulled the blanket away from your body. You turned to look at the opposite side of the bed, and you didn't find Michael there.

Where did he go?

You wondered how long you slept, and then cursed under your breath for staying the night. Did you two cuddle? You tried to rack your brain and think back but you couldn't remember. You were utterly exhausted and not in your right mind so you had no idea what you could have done. Frankly, you didn't even want to think about it.

You had just made a grave mistake. A very grave mistake.

You didn't know why you did what you did. You were angry and frustrated and feeling a myriad of emotions and so you weren't thinking clearly. That's why this happened. It was never going to happen again. No way in hell. You were going to make sure of that. It was just a one off. You were sure the next time you saw him, things would go back to normal. It'll dissolve into a fight, you reasoned, and you'll remember what an intolerable bitch he is. That should be the end of all this… nonsense.

You ran your fingers through your hair in frustration and released a dramatic sigh. You picked up your clothes from the floor and started slipping them on in a hurry, nearly tripping over yourself in doing so. You had to get out of here.

Just when you were pulling up your black stockings, the door swung open. You tried tugging it up the rest of the way but then the door closed.

There stood Michael, back in his uniform. He looked well put together and there was nothing on him that was reminiscent of what had occurred hours prior, while you still looked like a hot mess and had a bad case of bed head.

But Michael wasn't alone.

A purring sound rang in your ears, catching you off guard and making you pause in your tracks.

You looked up and saw that Michael was holding a cat in his arms, cradling the soft fur. It was a Bombay black cat with glowing green eyes.

But it wasn't just any cat.

It was your cat.

The one that you lost, that had died because of a man Miriam brought home from the Satanic church and who killed your furball in some sick ritual there. It had been four years since you've lost her. You were sure she was a goner. But here she was, your cat, Raven, in Michael's arms, very much alive.

There was no mistake.

Michael brought her back.

"A black cat is a little cliche, don't you think?" Michael asked with a smug smirk curling on his face.

You stared at him wide-eyed, awestruck and mouth agape for a long moment. "You brought her back," you finally said.

"She misses you," Michael told you, handing you the feline and reuniting you two.

You were in shock so for a long while you just stood there, nearly frozen, and Michael seemed to find it amusing.

Your cat curled up in your arms, making herself comfortable.

"Hey," you whispered gently to her as you held her close to your chest. She meowed softly and purred loudly as you caressed her fur, relaxing in your arms and nuzzling her head against your skin. "I missed you."

Michael watched with a content smile on his face.

"I-I don't know what to say," you whispered, still in shock and rendered speechless.

"Then don't say anything," Michael assured.

"You didn't have to," you said.

"I wanted to," Michael insisted.

You nodded at him before turning back to her cat, petting her fur with a hand lovingly.

"I'll let you finish getting dressed," Michael simply said with a smile before leaving the room.

Your cat meowed as she nuzzled her face into the warmth of your arms once more. Michael had done something kind, something thoughtful and considerate. He went out of his way for someone. For you.

And you desired him.

You set Raven down for a moment so you could finish getting dressed.

"Fuck," you whispered, your hand forming into a fist by your side. You were keeping these feelings at bay, you had it under control, never allowing them to surface to where they could become dangerous. This wasn't the way things were supposed to turn out. This wasn't supposed to happen.

This could complicate things, this could complicate everything.

"Fuck," you repeated quietly.


	9. A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

You had been spending the day with your mother, Miriam, and you two were running a couple of errands. It had been a while since you two had mother and daughter time, and in your time away at Miss Robichaux's Academy, you found that you actually started to kind of missed her. Only kind of, though.

"I'm so glad you decided to spend the day with me, honey, I've missed you," Miriam said, a smile curling on her lips. You two were in the car, and had just got back from the grocery store.

"Yeah, I missed you too," you answered and smiled back at her.

"There's something different about you. I haven't been able to put my finger on it, but I notice it, that's for damn sure. Your face is glowing!" Miriam started. "Did you meet a boy?"

"What? No! No, no," you replied with a grimace on your face.

"Did you meet a girl at the academy? Satan welcomes all sexual orientations, he's very LGBT friendly, so don't feel ashamed!" Miriam told you as she was driving.

"No I didn't meet anybody," you grumbled in annoyance.

"Okay, I get it. You're not ready to tell me. I'll figure it out," Miriam said with an amused glint in her eye.

You sighed and shook your head as you gazed out at the window. You noticed that she was stopping at a gas station.

"Hey, I thought we were going home," you raised your brows, confused.

"I need to get some gas first, be right back. Just stay in the car, it'll be a quickie," Miriam said right before leaving.

You nodded your head in response and began scrolling through your phone as you waited. You plugged in your earphones and started listening to music on your playlist. You saw another car pull up near the gas station and thought nothing of it. You were bobbing your head to a catchy song, closing your eyes and focusing solely on the loud music.

Little did you know what your mother was up to.

Your mother was murdering a man. Mercilessly.

A warlock named John Henry.

Had you not been blasting music in your ears, you would have heard his grunts and anguished cries, but you didn't see or hear anything because your attention was elsewhere. You were much too busy browsing your social media and stalking people's profiles to notice a thing.

"What? She got a new dog? Oh my god, he's so cute!" you gasped in surprise, whispering quietly to yourself as you scrolled down to look at the pictures of the chihuahua on one of your friends' Instagram.

Then Miriam returned to the car, a solemn expression on her face. What she did next, you certainly didn't expect. She lit a match and threw it on the dead body laying on the ground outside of the car before she drove off quickly. You stared at her in shock, unable to articulate a response from the suddenness of the situation.

"Mom, what the fuck did you just do?!" you yelled out, your mouth agape. You pulled your earphones out of your ears and stared at her.

"I had to take care of something. Well, more like someone," she rephrased. A smile slowly formed on her face. "We won't have to worry about him anymore. We're in the clear, now."

"Mom, what the fuck are you talking about?! Did you just murder someone and light them on fire?!" you asked, still staring at her, wide-eyed.

"I did what I had to do. Now stop looking at me like that. You've got to be used to this whole murder thing by now," Miriam barked.

"Who did you kill?" you questioned, staring directly at her as her gaze remained on the road ahead.

"Someone who wasn't on our side. Someone who was only going to do us harm," Miriam answered ominously.

"Could you be any less vague? Mom, I want answers!" you demanded fiercely. "I just thought we were getting gas but next thing I know, there's fire everywhere!"

She didn't answer you, and instead, she parked the car, in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere.

"I need to make a quick stop, stay in the car, it won't be long," Miriam instructed.

"What? Again? Do you have another person to kill?" you snarled with a look of both disbelief and exasperation.

"Stop questioning me!" Miriam hissed before exiting the vehicle.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. You were becoming incredibly frustrated.

Like hell you were staying in the car. You unbuckled your seat belt and left the car. It was really chilly outside and you didn't bring a jacket so you were shivering like mad. You started rubbing at your arms to create friction on your gooseflesh.

You looked about your surroundings as you walked forward, following your mother. She was still in view but she was far ahead of you.

You were quick to learn that you were outside of the Hawthrone School. You hadn't realized at first because of the dark, gray clouds that blanketed the sky above you, but as you took a moment to observe the vicinity, you were certain of it.

Suddenly, Miriam's strides had stopped. She was standing still as she looked about. She was waiting for someone.

You halted in your tracks as well, just to watch and find out what your mother was up to. You were hiding behind a tree, and with the darkness enveloping the space, it wasn't such a bad spot.

You were waiting for a few long boring minutes, actively shivering the whole time while lurking in the shadows. Miriam stretched her arms out wide, and that was when you knew the person she was waiting for had arrived. You saw someone running towards Miriam. You didn't get a good look at who it was, but you definitely had your suspicions. Their build appeared to belong to a man. You craned your neck trying to look and you saw that the two were embracing now.

When the man pulled away, your questions were answered.

It was none other than Michael.

You moved a little closer while still trying to be hidden behind the tree, but if you moved any further you were sure they would see you. You heard them talking, but it was in hushed voices, so you couldn't make out what they were saying.

You emitted a sigh of frustration and a moment after you released it, Miriam whipped her head around, looking for the source of the noise.

"What was that?" Miriam questioned.

"Just what are you two up to?" you asked, walking over to Michael and Miriam, glaring at them. "I'm getting a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach just seeing you guys together again. Trouble always seems to follow whenever you two are concerned."

"Oh Satan, looks like the jig is up," Miriam muttered to herself.

"Ms. Mead just did a huge favor me, relax," Michael told you, a smug smile curling on his lips.

"I took out the trash. I took care of that sorry of excuse for a warlock and now he's a stack of overcooked country barbecue. He was onto Michael, he knew Michael wasn't just some ordinary warlock. He was always against him, never supported his rise to become Supreme, therefore he was a threat, and I had to eliminate that threat," Miriam explained. "John Henry certainly won't be missed."

"Can't say I blame him," you started, crossing your arms over your chest. "Are you going to kill me now, too? Because I don't agree with any of this. I don't want him to take the Seven Wonders test. I don't want him to be the Supreme."

"What? Nonsense! Why wouldn't you want him to be the Supreme?" Miriam asked, shooting you a look that said you were being absolutely preposterous.

Michael looked at you, his eyes almost pleading and desperate as he awaited an answer from you.

"Why? I know nothing good will come of it. Cordelia has been getting nightmares. She has seen the end. I've seen it too. It's because of him. He's not fit to lead us," you answered.

"He will own the Seven Wonders, whether you like it or not!" Miriam said in Michael's defense, making his face light up like a Christmas tree.

"I can do it. I know I can. I have to," Michael replied, and you released a full body sigh, shaking your head.

"Those witches are not your sisters. They are not your family. We are. If they don't support his rise to Supreme, they are against him, simple as that. Now the question is, are you with us or against us?" Miriam asked, her eyes narrowed.

"I never wanted to be a part of this!" you said, raising your voice.

"That's why I told you to stay in the car! But again, you didn't listen, so now you gotta deal with the consequences," Miriam scolded you.

"I know you don't want me to take the Seven Wonders test, but I'm going to. I can't let anything or anyone stop me," Michael told you, his tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Of course you are," you muttered and then turned away from his gaze.

"He's going to be the best damn Supreme the world will ever bear witness to," Miriam said with a proud smile.

"You two are crazy, legitimately crazy. We are not supposed to kill our own. Why couldn't you two just leave things how they were for once? Why do you have to make such a mess of everything?" you started venting, feeling a surge of anger and frustration overcome you.

"He was going to tell Cordelia about me," Michael said, his voice soft. "He always had it out for me, right from the start, he never wanted me to succeed."

"Sounds like me and this John Henry guy have a lot in common," you grumbled.

"You two are nothing alike," Miriam disagreed. "You know, my brain just hatched an idea," she said, a wicked smile forming on her face.

"Oh god, no, what is it?" you asked in an impatient tone.

"You can be our inside man! You can find out what they're planning, what they're thinking, everything they are doing behind the scenes. They'll never see it coming that a mole is amongst them. We'll always be one step ahead of them," Miriam started, her laughter was sinister.

"What? No, no, I'm not going to do that. Don't be ridiculous. I couldn't do that to them," you started. You couldn't believe she had the audacity to even suggest that. You were not a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"You need to believe in yourself. You could totally pull it off," Miriam urged.

"Do you hear yourself right now? You sound even crazier! They would figure it out. I haven't even been there that long, they'd be able to see right through me," you explained.

"Well you're gonna have to. How else are we going to know what those witches are plotting? We need to be the ones who make the first move, who have the advantage. They can't know who Michael really is, it's not time for that, yet," Miriam whispered.

"I can't. I can't do that. They've been so kind, so helpful and patient and good to me, and I'm supposed to repay them by being a spy? For him?" you stressed, a scowl marring your features as you pointed at Michael.

Michael frowned in response to that.

"Oh come on! He saved your cat from whatever rotten place she was in for crying out loud! The last time I saw her she was in little bitty pieces and now she's as good as new! What else does he have to do to prove that he's on your side?" Miriam barked, shooting daggers at you. "You need to have his back! That's all I'm asking of you! If you two put your minds together, you two would be an unstoppable force. That's why I need you to look after one another."

"Please this is my chance. Please just don't tell them about this. I need you," Michael urged, his deep blue eyes full of desperation.

You stared back at Michael and the hardened expression on your face softened somewhat upon his words. Despite yourself, your heart swelled in your chest. He needed you. You cursed under your breath and started to feel like a damn fool for letting something like that affect you the way it did.

You weren't able to say anything more because then you heard footsteps approaching, the crunching of leaves echoing. You whipped your head back and suddenly your blood ran cold in fear of who it could be.

When the figure came into view and revealed himself, you discovered that it was a short man with a mustache, sporting a Homburg hat. He was a warlock named Ariel Augustus. You've heard about him from the other witches.

"Don't worry, he knows about John Henry," Miriam assured you and Michael, who was starting to look concerned himself.

Ariel approached Michael and clasped a hand over his cheek, a triumphant smile playing on his features. "Did you think I would let that fool blow our chances of having our own Supreme? Not in this lifetime."

Your eyes narrowed as you listened. So he was in on it, too. Ariel wanted John Henry dead. This was a whole big mess that you did not want to be involved in. You didn't want to know this information but now here you were in the middle of everything. You just knew things were going to get really ugly.

"Ariel is the one who told me when John Henry was leaving so I could intercept him and do the deed. We couldn't have done this without him," Miriam explained.

"I, for one, can't wait to see those bitches squirm with a man in charge. Finally on top where we belong," Ariel said proudly and Michael smiled back at him. Then Ariel turned to look at you, his brows arched. "And who might this be? Is she with you?"

"Yeah, she's with me," Michael answered, sounding so certain of it.

You didn't say anything. You merely crossed your arms and just listened as you tapped your foot impatiently, anger boiling in your veins. You were not very pleased with the way everything was unfolding around you.

"She's not going to squeal, is she?" Ariel asked, talking as if you weren't standing there.

"No, we can trust her. She knows how to keep a secret, she won't tell a soul," Michael replied, looking you over with a smile curled on his lips.

"Good. If you trust her, then I do too," Ariel said and nodded at you with a knowing smirk.

"Yeah, you don't gotta worry about her, she's in cahoots with us," Miriam added.

You had to fight the urge to glare at your mother.

"Michael, a word? In private, please?" you demanded, and already started to walk a far distance from Ariel and Miriam, expecting him to follow.

He strode over, standing in front of you.

"She knows how to keep a secret? I've kept enough secrets for you, and I don't want to have to keep another one. Why are you doing this to me? First, you're taking the Seven Wonders test which I specifically told you not to do, you're having Miriam kill warlocks for you, and now you want me to be an undercover mole! I can't catch a break! When is this going to end?" you snapped, needing to get it all off your chest, you were fuming. The heat radiated from your very being.

"Relax, relax," Michael said, clasping his hands on both of your shoulders. "It's not like the witches will ask you about John Henry. You just have to act like you don't know anything, like nothing's changed, but keep your eyes peeled."

"What if they catch on-"

"They are not going to catch on," Michael assured, his grip tightening on your shoulders.

"John Henry was right to be suspicious of you. You're going to wreak havoc when you become Supreme, aren't you?" you accused, your tone sharp.

"I just need everything to fall into place, all the pieces have to be aligned and then the road will be clear for me to do what I was born to do," Michael explained. Your jaw clenched and he saw the fire burning furiously behind your eyes – all ire and raw emotion.

"What the fuck do you have planned?" you questioned, but then stopped yourself. You stared him down with a mixture of anger and exasperation. "You know what, I don't even want to know. But if you hurt them, if you hurt my sisters, I swear to God I'll-"

"Hey, hey, why are you getting so worked up?" Michael asked in a soothing voice. "Everything is going to work out, I swear it."

"God, you're putting me through hell," you growled, turning your head to look away, your blood simmered in frustration. "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"I promise it'll all be worth it in the end. You'll see," Michael whispered, but his words did nothing to ease you. You knew he would only create more destruction in his path.

"This isn't fair to me. None of it is, you're putting me in the middle between my coven and your shit, and it's all so fucked up," you spat, frowning in discontentment.

"You don't have to be in the middle of anything. I'm with you. You've got me," Michael assured. He slid his hands away from your shoulders and used them to hold your own, his fingers intertwining with yours.

"What? What are you talking about? Wait, did you think-" you inhaled sharply, you were shocked momentarily, his words making you take a step back.

"I-I thought we were..." he trailed off.

"A thing?" you finished his sentence. "We are not a thing. There is no we. There is no us. We could never be a thing," you started and then your voice dropped to a whisper, "what happened that day, it can't happen again. It won't ever happen again."

The hopeful look on Michael's face faded at a moment's notice when you said it, the words feeling like a slap to the face, except it stung far worse. He looked like a kicked puppy and the disappointment in his eyes was almost enough for you to take back what you said.

Almost.

"Oh," he whispered. His head was hung low and he was avoiding your gaze now.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself, "It was a mistake. That's all it was. I can't stress that enough."

"It meant something to me," Michael spoke up, lifting his head and facing you with a earnest look in his eye.

"Well, it didn't mean anything to me," you told him, hoping he would believe it. Though, you knew it wasn't the truth. You were lying. You were lying to protect yourself. You had to. "I regret it."

You were not going to allow yourself to fall for the Antichrist. You knew that would be a fate doomed from the start. You had to be strong. You couldn't let him make you weak. He was the spawn of Satan for crying out loud. He was nothing but trouble. He left nothing but horror and wreckage in his wake. You had seen it first hand. You couldn't give him any kind of power over you.

"It's better just to forget about it, pretend like it never happened," you added, your tone was insensitive and biting. Your throat felt tight but your gaze remained hard.

"I don't know if I can do that," Michael murmured, averting his eyes from your gaze.

"Well you have to," you said with a frown.

You two just stood there, so close, yet so far away from one another, and you only looked at him. Your face had no expression. You turned cold again and said nothing. He didn't have anything else to say, either. There was nothing more to add, you decided. Perhaps that was a good thing. It saved you the trouble of getting hurt any more than you already were. The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, that was until you found the strength to take a step across from him.

As you walked by him, your arms brushed, and you could feel something like hesitancy from him. As though he were ready to say something, or do something.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to prickle at the corners of your eyes and you continued walking, sighing into the silence. You almost turned back to see if he would follow you, try to chase after you, but as you walked further away from him, you didn't hear any approaching footsteps, and you knew that you were a damned fool for thinking he would.

Before you knew it, the day had arrived. The day that Michael was to take the Seven Wonders test.

Only members of the council were allowed to go and see the events unfold so you were left at the academy, anxiously awaiting the outcome. You hated not being there. You wanted to see it for yourself. A queasy feeling had been swirling in the pit of your stomach since the morning and you found yourself unable to concentrate on anything because this was weighing on you so heavily.

You were shaking like a leaf sitting at the table in the dining room. The other witches were whispering amongst each ofher, curious and nervous, and they didn't know what to expect, but you were filled with a strong sense of dread, so much so that you couldn't find it in you to join in on their gossip. You couldn't eat anything or drink any of the refreshments at the table because you knew it would only make you feel sick.

"It's going to be okay," Mallory told you, sitting next to you. She placed a hand on your shoulder. "Whatever happens, we are going to get through it, together."

A small smile curled on your lips. "Thank you."

Finally, Cordelia came through the door. She arrived with Myrtle, Zoe, and Queenie. She was standing at the doorway for just a moment and then suddenly she nearly stumbled over. Myrtle was quick to react and she immediately grabbed her hand and kept the other at Cordelia's back, helping her stay upright.

"Michael passed the Seven Wonders," Cordelia announced, though her voice was strained and she took in a sharp breath through her nose. She was weak and ill.

When the new Supreme rises, the old one fades. Cordelia was fading. Your Supreme would be no more because of Michael.

You already knew what the result was going to be, but that still didn't make hearing the news any easier.

"He passed the test, but he is no Supreme. Not if I have anything to say about it," Cordelia added grimly. She started coughing hoarsely, leaning over weakly, and unable to support herself without Myrtle's help.

"Please refrain from asking questions at this time, girls. Cordelia needs her rest," Myrtle said sadly. She started guiding her upstairs and the other witches followed. Though, you realized that Madison wasn't with them. She went with them, but she didn't come back with them.

"Where's Madison?" you asked, raising your brows.

Myrtle lifted a hand in front of herself, wordlessly telling you to drop it. She said not to ask any questions. Right.

Mallory gave you a sympathetic look. "I think it's best if we just wait. I'm sure they'll tell us tomorrow," she assured.

The other girls continued eating at the diner table, albeit rather quietly.

But if they weren't going to give you answers now, then you were going to take matters into your own hands and find out for yourself.

You couldn't sit around and pretend like nothing happened.

You made your way upstairs shortly afterwards, though you didn't do so immediately because you didn't want to seem suspicious by making a speedy exit.

You stood outside Cordelia's door, listening in. You wished that you knew some kind of spell for eavesdropping on conversations because that would really come in handy right about now, but this would have to do.

"There's no way in hell I'm letting him lead my girls. To my last dying breath, I will make sure of that. He will never be the Supreme," Cordelia said. "There's something coming, I fear it's the end times. I've felt it and seen it, but we have the advantage because I have all my girls back. I just need to find out who he is, what he is. I trust that Madison and Behold will come back with those answers."

"The Murder House is where it all started, where that wretched thing was born," Myrtle said in disgust. "Now we just have to wait."

You pulled away from the door and released a heavy breath, trying to process what you just heard. Madison was at the Murder House, with Behold, seeking answers, digging into Michael's past.

You felt that ball of anxiety curling in your stomach once more, a wave of panic washing over you. Shit just hit the fan, and you were right in the middle of it. You felt like you were at a crossroads. You didn't know what to do.

You had to pick a side.

You had to make a decision.

Would you tell Michael or would you keep this information to yourself?


	10. No Rest for the Wicked

You tried calling Miriam to tell her about the newfound information but then she gave you some news of her own, that Michael was in the wilderness. He had decided that he needed to be completely alone. She didn't know where he was exactly either.

Well that was great. You didn't know how you were going to reach him now. He was definitely letting this Supreme thing get to his head. He probably thought he had to become even stronger now that he believed he was the Supreme. The last time you spoke to him didn't exactly go over so well, though, so you didn't think he would want to see you, but this was important. It was the worst time for him to go AWOL.

When Behold and Madison returned from the Murder House, they spoke of all the horrors that occurred there. You learned that it all started with Michael killing small animals to murdering his nanny only at the age of three. There was an incident where Michael strangled his grandmother, Constance Langdon, while she was sleeping which in turn made her consult the help of a priest, only for him to be murdered by Michael as well. He drove his grandmother Constance to commit suicide by overdose, it was then that a man named Ben, who was his mother's husband, started to look after Michael. They developed a father-son relationship. Eventually, Michael met his father, Tate Langdon, but he was immediately rejected and denounced by him which only drove him further and further away from the light and back into the darkness where he believed he belonged.

You heard the story of how he mutilated the ghost of Elizabeth Short, he cruelly murdered two new residents and then he permanently expelled their spirits from existence, and how he nearly killed his mother. In summary and as Madison put it: "He was pure fucking evil and the literal fucking Antichrist!"

That was a lot to process, but you couldn't truly say that any of it surprised you. He was the Antichrist, the Devil's spawn. Evil came with the title. You knew what he was capable of, how powerful he was, you knew of the darkness lurking beneath all that beauty.

But through all the horror stories you had to sit through from Behold and Madison, there was something that did surprise you.

You felt sympathy for him, so much so in fact that you found yourself nearly tearing up. He sought guidance from Ben and attended therapy sessions with him. When Behold and Madison explained what happened in their own narrative, they told it without compassion or empathy, but you understood that there was more to the story.

Michael was trying to be good.

He was trying to fight the darkness inside of him, but everyone either abandoned him or simply gave up on him. He was lost. He was denounced by those who were supposed to love him. He didn't have anyone to turn to. He must have felt so alone and defeated, and like no one could ever love him. His own mother tried to murder him and his father disowned him. These people could have made a difference in his life, they could have helped him, if they tried, if they believed he could change. Maybe they could have stopped him from going down this dark path. You realized you were no different. Hell, you tried to kill him the first day he arrived at your house. Your mother was the first person to ever show him kindness and love.

You had fallen into the pit that was his story, and had become guilty of sympathizing with the Devil. And though your mind screamed at you for continuing to commit such a grievous sin, your heart had come to ignore it. This wasn't supposed to happen. No, you were not supposed to allow yourself to feel sorry for someone who was the Devil incarnate. Though, it couldn't be helped. Strangely, you found yourself wanting to comfort and protect this sad, broken, confused, and lost boy. That boy who needed someone to show him a shred of kindness, someone who wouldn't give up on him, someone who wouldn't abandon him.

You remembered that this was the house your mother found Michael in. He had been through hell and back there, both figuratively and literally. You didn't know the full story at the time, how could you? But here you were, a deep sadness clutching your heart, settling into your heavy bones. You were hit with this consuming feeling of guilt. You tried to imagine what it had been like for Michael to grow up there, surrounded by the dead and forced to live amongst monsters.

Had there been any joy in young Michael's life?

Your childhood hadn't been great, by no stretch of the imagination, but it paled in comparison with his.

You were almost certain that Michael's life would have turned out much differently if he had parents and people that loved him, cared for him.

This posed an important question for you: "If the Devil repented, could he be saved?"

But that was the danger, wasn't it? Assuming there was something soft and sensitive underneath. Assuming there was something that could possibly be saved. If there was even some semblance of hope that it was possible, was that enough? Was that enough to believe in someone? Was that enough to try?

You couldn't wrap your head around the idea of someone being born evil. No baby is born evil. It wasn't Michael's fault that he was born in the Murder House, and the dire circumstances in which he was conceived. Some might argue it was his true nature to be this way because of that, but maybe it wasn't. You wanted to believe there was good in him. You wanted to believe that his reputation as a being of raw and unbridled evil was merely a serious misconception written and enforced by man.

You blinked back the tears that threatened to fall and continued to listen to Behold and Madison, pretending that you weren't hurting on the inside.

That night you dreamed of Michael. You were in the Murder House, and you found Michael crying on his bed. His face was pressed against his pillow, obscuring himself from view. He was full-on sobbing and they wracked his body, making him twitch and hiccup between each unsteady, strained breath. Every bit of him seemed to shout surrender.

You were in his room, standing in the doorway.

"Michael," you called quietly into the room, gently pushing the door open a little wider.

Upon hearing his name, or perhaps it had simply been your voice, his head snapped up to you, and all his muscles seemed to tense. For a moment, he just looked at you, tears still running down his face, though silently, and something in the way he watched you made you draw back a bit, thinking that he might rather be alone, but then his body fell slack again, except for the resuming tremors of sobs, and you knew you couldn't leave him.

He looked so fragile, his body shaking uncontrollably, his brows creasing deeply.

Before you could check yourself, you had slid onto the bed beside him. You hesitated then, wanting to desperately but not knowing how he would react if you put your arms around him, and one thing you did not want to do was make him more upset.

But in the moment you hesitated, Michael threw his arms around you and buried his head in your blouse, curling up against your body. This settled the matter in your mind, and you held him tightly. He was hunched over in such a broken way. The only thing you wanted to do in that moment was pull him as close as possible into your arms and hold him forever. Hold him until he was whole and happy again.

"Shhh, it's okay, Michael, it's okay," you murmured. You began stroking your fingers through his hair to try and calm him. The sobs tore from his throat in big, bursting gasps. He pressed his lips together, feeling himself shake with heavy breaths.

"It's okay, I'm here, you're okay," you repeated as you rocked him gently. You continued to run your fingers delicately through his hair, hoping that with the silence and your soft reassurances he would calm down a bit. You didn't know what had made him so upset, but you hoped that whatever it was, it was something you could fix.

You two sat like that for quite some time. You listened to the ticking of the clock as Michael completely soaked your blouse in tears. You rocked him back and forth until his breathing evened out and you leaned back. Michael was holding onto your shoulders as if you would disappear.

You brought your hands up to rest on either side of his face, wiping at his tears with your thumbs. Then you leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

"What's the matter? Why are you crying?" you finally asked.

His eyes drifted down, pain etched into his features. Then when he looked back up at you, his eyes shone brightly in the bleak darkness of the room. There was so much defeat and misery in his eyes as he gazed at you, as if you were a lighthouse in a storm; capable of guiding him back to shore.

"I just missed you," he said in a shuddering voice, letting out a shaky sigh. "I don't have anyone else, and I didn't know when I was going to see you again," he added, releasing a shaky breath. "Everyone has left me. Nobody wants me. I'm alone."

You were, quite frankly, at a loss for what to say. It physically hurt you to see him like this.

"But being with you, right now. I feel safe. I feel like things could be okay again," Michael whispered.

This hit you like a train. You didn't expect him to say those words, and you found that they made your heart swell in your chest.

You tilted your head down a bit to press your lips against his tear-stained cheek.

"And now, I'm never gonna leave you," you promised.

He looked up at you. "Do you mean that?" he choked out. There was such desperation in his eyes; it startled you.

"Yeah, I mean it. I really do. I'm not going anywhere," you replied. Your fingers continued to thread through his hair softly.

He released a breath neither of you two realized he'd been holding.

"Please, please don't ever leave me," Michael exhaled softly, his voice trembling. "Please don't ever give up on me."

You leaned your forehead against Michael's. You shuddered out an unsteady breath. "I won't leave you. I won't give up on you. I promise."

Michael closed his eyes and lowered his head, drops of tears falling down his face again, his lips pressed tightly together.

You wrapped your arms around Michael's hunched shoulders, holding him close as he began to cry again. He hugged you a little too tight, but it was alright. You didn't mind. You lifted your hand to the back of his head, cradling it against the nape of your neck while you two swayed back and forth to your own sad rhythm. Like if you two let go for even the slightest second you would lose your last shred of hope forever.

So you two held on to each other. You were there for him, you comforted him. He was safe in your arms.

Little did you know, that night, you were cradling a pillow in your arms, repeating your promises to Michael over and over in a whispered voice during your slumber.

Everything was moving so fast and it was far beyond your control.

Cordelia had paid a visit to Dinah and requested to see Papa Legba. She wanted him to open the gates so she could lure Michael in and he could be condemned to roam the underworld but he declined her request when he wasn't pleased with what she was offering. Madison went to go see a witch named Bubbles who could read minds, asking for her to use her abilities on the warlock Ariel Augustus, to hear what he and the other warlocks were thinking. Bubbles and Myrtle decided that they would go to the Hawthrone School together to have a meal with the warlocks so Bubbles could get that information. Mallory was becoming more powerful and saved Coco from dying, Zoe started to suspect that she might be the one who was rising as the Supreme and that was why Cordelia was fading. Cordelia was getting weaker, she could hardly stand up, and you knew it was killing her every time the girls witnessed her moments of weakness. It was happening faster than she expected.

When Bubbles and Myrtle returned from their dinner with the warlocks, Bubbles reported back to Cordelia what she heard. Bubbles revealed that they murdered one of their own and now they planned to kill all the witches. It was kill or be killed. Their suspicions had been confirmed. They left it in Cordelia's hands to come up with a plan but before that was to happen, Cordelia wanted to have a feast in the dining room with all the witches.

The table was adorned with all kinds of food, to fancy platters of food that you couldn't pronounce to sweet delicacies to wine to just about anything that on any regular day you would have gladly stuffed your face with.

But not today.

No, you couldn't find it in you to eat. You had only nibbled on a tiny piece of bread and had the smallest sip of wine to appear as if everything was fine, but even that was enough to make you feel queasy in the stomach. You tried to force a smile on your face but it would falter halfway through and as your mind raced and became a jumbled mess of your inner conflicts and emotions, you couldn't keep the frown from marring your features. It was making you stick out like a sore thumb. You were so in your head that their trivial conversations fell on deaf ears and you couldn't hang onto a word they were saying to save your life.

You just hoped everyone was distracted enough, speaking amongst one another that they wouldn't notice you.

Everyone seemed to be all smiles and laughter, except for you and Mallory, who just so happened to be sitting next to you. You knew Mallory was stressing about becoming the Supreme and whatnot, it was something that had been weighing on her heavily ever since Zoe had made the prediction.

Coco noticed that Mallory was feeling down.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Coco asked, worry etched on her features.

"I'm not feeling great. I don't want to rise if it means Miss Cordelia has to fall," Mallory admitted, looking back at Cordelia from across the table.

"Don't ever be ashamed of who you are, Mallory," Cordelia advised. "This is how it's always worked and when the time does come, I will be proud to know that you will be the one to lead this coven. But I'm not going anywhere yet, and there are more tests to be passed, so please drink up!" Cordelia said, raising a glass.

A small smile formed on Mallory's face, though you knew it was still troubling her. You just hoped that no one directed their attention to you because you didn't think you had it in you to fake a smile.

Though, Mallory noticed you looked down yourself.

"What are you thinking about?"

She turned her head towards you, her attention on you now, and you felt your stomach drop. This was the last thing you wanted. She stared at you, waiting for an answer.

"Nothing really," you said, shaking your head slightly, one side of your mouth twisting up at the corner.

"You can tell me, you can tell us," Mallory reminded you. You could feel her unwavering gaze on you. You stared back down at your full plate of food. It was easier to lie if you weren't looking at her.

"Just tired," you answered. It was sort of the truth. You hoped your short answers would dissuade Mallory from more conversation. It didn't.

"Look, I know something is up with you. I just want you to know that I'm here if you want to talk. You know that, right?"

You stayed silent. Mallory continued. "I'm worried about you. We all are. What can we do to help?"

"Yeah, we're all your sisters, you can share anything with us, you don't have to go through it alone," Queenie chimed in with a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, we practically have the same blood flowing through our veins, we're family," Coco added.

Cordelia looked over at you, concern etched on her face. "There's something deeply troubling you, I can sense it all the way from here. You don't have to wallow in despair, not when you have us."

You turned to look at everyone around the table and you gave a small tight-lipped smile.

"Thanks guys, really. Your worry is misplaced, though. I'll be okay. I'm okay," you said. The last part of your sentence sounded like you were trying to convince yourself as well as Mallory and the girls.

"I hope that's true," Mallory answered.

"I'll tell you what's on her mind. She's thinking the same thing I'm thinking. How can you witches sit around here casually sipping wine when people are going to die?" Behold hissed, a look of disgust written all over his face. "There's an Antichrist on the loose, trying to destroy the world!"

"Yes, and let's not forget who aided in his ascension," Myrtle countered.

"Yeah, I know. I'm guilty. But now we know what he's capable of. Madison and I saw first-hand the people he hurt, his own family. Michael was born evil. We have to stop him," Behold said.

Those words felt like a punch to your gut.

"And we will," Cordelia replied, staring right back at Behold. "But tonight, we are celebrating. Because this could be the last time we'll all be together," she said, looking at all of her girls sitting at the table before she turned back to Behold. "I'm not naive, Behold. I know damn well the challenges that we're facing. I've known for a while now. It forced me to do something I vowed I would never do, and it almost killed me."

Cordelia told the story of how she summoned Myrtle and brought her back to life. Myrtle told her that she gave her strict instructions not to bring her back but Cordelia explained that she needed her guidance because danger was coming. She was feeling lost and like she didn't know how to protect her girls anymore.

"I knew I had to do everything in my power to prepare you girls for what was coming, and now that we are united and ready, it's time to fire the first shot," Cordelia began, a proud smile on her face.

After the fancy dinner, you, Cordelia, Coco, Mallory, Myrtle, and Zoe all went to the gas station where John Henry was murdered. They knew this information thanks to Bubbles. Fear and worry gripped your heart as you walked with them, it was beating rapidly against your rib cage and it echoed in your head, piercing your ears. You just hoped that they couldn't hear it, too.

Zoe was quick to locate exactly where John Henry's ashes were and that was when Cordelia told Mallory to use her powers to bring him back. You all watched in wonder and anticipation to see her complete this task. Mallory did just as she was told and successfully passed the final test of the Seven Wonders by bringing him back to life.

John Henry then told the story of what happened to him. You, Cordelia, Myrtle, and Behold were all in the room, listening.

"What I've seen, what I've learned, is a matter of life and death," John Henry said in a strained voice before a coughing fit overtook him.

"It's okay, time your time," Cordelia said, handing him a cup of tea.

You sat and listened, your heartbeat quickening as you tried to keep still in the chair you were sitting on.

"We need information about the night you died. Who killed you? Was it Ariel? Baldwin?" Cordelia started accusing the warlocks, she knew they couldn't be trusted and that they had something to do with John Henry's death.

"What are you talking about?" John Henry asked, disorientated.

"We know your brothers conspired against you," Myrtle told him.

"It wasn't them," John Henry said. "I was killed by a woman."

You took a deep breath and swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what woman he was talking about. Your mother.

"What woman?" Cordelia demanded.

John Henry described Miriam's appearance, what she said to him, how she acted, how she dressed, basically everything that happened right before he died. Your chest felt tight, constricting and your gut was twisting up in knots, making you feel completely and utterly sick.

Later, you heard Cordelia and Coco speaking in the dining room. Cordelia needed Coco to do something for her. Coco swore that she would do anything she asked.

That was when you heard Cordelia say, "Michael has an ally. Someone who poses a dangerous threat to our coven. A traitor. And she needs to be eliminated."

Your heart rose to your throat and your chest felt like it was about to burst.

You ran upstairs to your room once the discussion was over, panicked and with a trembling hand, you called Miriam.

"C'mon, pick up, pick up," you muttered to yourself, pacing about the room frantically.

There was no answer. It went straight to voicemail.

You tried calling her again, but it was the same result, no answer.

"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath.

You needed to go back home. You didn't have a choice. You had to warn Miriam. You had to warn your mother and you needed to find where the hell Michael was. You couldn't stay here any longer.

You started stuffing your essentials in a bag, moving about hastily as you grabbed your things. You threw your bag over your shoulder and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind you. You hoped no one would catch you and that you could go without telling anybody anything. You were ready to leave, about to head out.

That was when Mallory found you as you were just about to walk down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Mallory asked, raising her brows.

Your breath caught in your throat and your body stilled, stopping in your tracks.

"I have to go back home," you told her.

"Again?" Mallory questioned, confused. "Did something happen? Is everything okay?"

"I can't explain. I just really have to go. I'm sorry, Mallory," you said with a frown. It killed you not being able to be honest with her, but you didn't really have a choice in the matter. You couldn't tell her why you had to leave. You couldn't tell anybody.

You made a move to walk downstairs but then her voice stopped you again.

"Will you be coming back? Will I be able to see you again?" Mallory asked, her voice soft and full of worry, almost pleading.

You turned back and faced her, your lower lip quivering. "I-I don't know. I don't think I'll be able to. I'm sorry."

"Why is that?" Mallory asked. She was full of questions that you really didn't want to answer. She was prying and while it was nice that she actually gave a damn, at this point you just wished she would back off.

"I just don't think it's going to work out. Thanks for everything, Mallory," you said with a sad smile before you started walking away again.

But Mallory spoke up again, "You know, we always have a choice."

"Yeah, I know," you whispered.

You bolted straight to the door and took quick, short steps in an effort to get out of there as soon as possible, hoping that she wouldn't chase after you.

"Hey, where are you going? Is everything okay?" Coco asked, but you didn't answer her. You pretended like you didn't see or hear her and simply left without another word.

Coco opened the door and was about to chase you herself but you were in such a rush she didn't think she would be able to keep up with you. Coco frowned, though her eyes stayed on you as you left, wondering where you were going.

You took one last glance back at the Miss Robichaux's Academy, and with a tear filled gaze you started walking away faster.

Your first stop was going to be your house. You had to see Miriam. You had to tell her that they were onto her. You had to warn her.


	11. Fallen Angel

You went back to your house, only to find it completely empty, save for your cat Raven who was sleeping comfortably on the couch.

"Mom?" you called out, opening every door to every room in the house.

There was no answer. Only silence echoed back at you.

She wasn't home.

You could feel it in your gut that something wasn't right. It was a gut wrenching pain that wouldn't leave you.

You left your house in a hurry. Maybe Michael knew where she was. Just maybe. But then again, you didn't know where Michael was either. You decided to return to the Hawthrone School, in hopes that Michael went back there after his time in the wilderness. It was worth a shot.

You were just outside the school, on your way to enter the building when you arrived at the reservoir.

Your heart sank and your blood ran cold.

Your footsteps came to a halt and your body froze up in shock as you looked back at the scene before you. There was three bodies burned at the stake and the smell of burnt flesh was hanging in the air, making you nearly gag.

You took a step closer to examine the bodies and placed your hand on two of them once you were able to move again, and you saw the warlocks first, Ariel and Baldwin, they were burned to nothing but charred and melted skin and bone. Flashes of the horrors invaded your thoughts, of how they were burned alive. Broken. Sobbing, shaking wrecks of people, every shred of dignity and humanity torn from them as they screamed until their voices were hollow whistles. Shocked and burned until they didn't even try to scream anymore, souls crushed beyond even having the will to react to pain.

You could hear their screams of agonies in your head and the vivid depiction of it made your skin crawl.

But then you found the one that you had been hoping would be okay all this time. You had to convince yourself of it, that something like this wouldn't happen. You didn't believe it ever would. You were hoping that she was just off to another one of her shenanigans, attending some fucked up event at her Satanic church.

You found your mother, Miriam. What was left of her. Only some of her upper half remained as well as her head, leaving nothing but scorched flesh in its wake.

The witches killed her. Your coven killed her. They burned them at the stake for the murder of John Henry. The warlocks conspired against a fellow brother and Miriam was the one who did the deed. You swallowed over the lump in your throat, biting at your bottom lip so hard that if you were in a better state of mind, you'd worry you were going to bite straight through it. You twitched, curling down into yourself.

The first ring of pain and realization came almost dreamlike. You felt detached from it, and for a few seconds, the world didn't exist. It didn't feel real. It couldn't be real, it had to be a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare.

You could feel your chest tightening, each breath was starting to become a struggle to inhale. Tears brimmed in your eyes, streaking your cheeks as you swallowed hard. You ducked your head down and reached up to harshly wipe at your eyes with the insides of your wrists, sniffling. A gasp ripped out of your throat as the tightness in your chest grew impossibly stronger and you could barely breathe past it. You felt like you were drowning, suffocating, desperately trying to pull air into your burning lungs as panic overcame your being. You could feel it shaking down your bones, rattling your body, a tremor that left it unstable.

There was a ringing in your ears and your breathing was getting more and more erratic as you gasped for air between sobs, hands tightly fisted at your sides. You tried to inhale deeply, but the heaviness in your chest wouldn't allow it, your terror building with each increasingly shallow breath. The sounds you were emitting were ridden with hitches and hiccups, and you briefly pressed a hand to your chest in an attempt to regulate your breathing, but it didn't help in the slightest.

You lost your mother.

You didn't even get to say goodbye.

You couldn't believe it.

You and your mother never had the best relationship. You two didn't have an ideal mother-daughter relationship, you never really saw eye to eye on much of anything, but you couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose her. At the end of the day she was your mother and you still cared for her. You just thought there would always be more time, but now that was over. She was gone and there was nothing you could do about it. You were completely and utterly powerless.

Eventually, you began coming back to the real world, slowly but surely. You couldn't stay here any longer, the dreadful scent in the air was making you feel light-headed and you couldn't take another second of looking at how horribly disfigured your mother had become.

With a deep breath, you started to run. Your knees felt weak and you were stumbling, but you didn't let that stop you. You still had to find Michael. You wondered, did Michael find them too? Did he see what happened to Miriam? You didn't want to think about that. You didn't want to picture his reaction, how heartbroken he must have been. He would be overcome with grief, devastated. He loved her, too. She was like a mother to him.

You ventured into the woods, grief-stricken, your low panting echoing back to you. You stifled your cries by biting down on your lower lip, your stuttering chest sometimes getting the better of you. You shivered as you walked due to the cold breeze that surrounded you. At least it was fairly peaceful. A little too peaceful given what just happened.

Not only were these woods especially quiet, nothing seemed to be inhabiting them. Not a bird, squirrel, or even a fly. With all the foliage around, it was a surprise for it to feel so vacant.

After some walking and aimless wandering, you finally came to a small clearing, and that was when you saw it.

A man with a tousled mop of blonde hair kneeling on the dirt. It was none other than Michael. There could be no mistake.

You took a step closer and saw the pentagram encircled around him. A sense of dread washed over you at the mere sight of it.

"Michael?" you asked and walked close enough to where you were standing just outside of the pentagram.

He didn't answer you.

"Michael? What are you doing?" you raised your voice. There was still no answer.

"Hey, answer me!" you demanded, finally stepping over the pentagram and grasping his shoulder, making him turn to face you.

"Leave me alone!" Michael shouted, twisting his arm back to shake your hand off his shoulder.

"Michael..." you trailed off.

"I need to contact my father, and you can't be around. You don't believe in him and he can sense that," Michael explained bitterly "So you need to go."

Michael couldn't bring himself to look at you so he stared at the ground, trying to gain control over his ragged breathing.

"But Michael, after what happened, you shouldn't be alone," you whispered, pleading. You remembered one of the last things Miriam ever said to you. To have Michael's back, to look out for one another. It was all she asked of you.

"I won't be alone. I have my father," Michael said, coldly dismissing you. He felt the anger building, and he held onto it desperately. Anger was better than the misery that threatened to consume him. "You can't help me, only he can."

"Come on, this isn't the answer, let's go back home. The only way we are gonna get through this is together," you begged, your eyes welling up once more. "Please don't shut me out."

"I said leave! Get the fuck out of here!" Michael shouted at you, the sound of his hoarse voice making you flinch and it sent a chill down your spine. His piercing blue eyes could have stared down death itself. It was the gaze of a man who was filled with rage and a hopelessness that was almost unrecognizable.

"Fine," you answered after a long pause. "Fine, be like that, push me away." you said cruelly. "I just thought we could be there for each other."

You took your leave then and you didn't feel his eyes on you when you walked away. No, there was no lingering gaze or any sign that he would chase after you.

You went back home, returning to an empty house, every footstep seemed to be amplified in the silence. You locked yourself away in your room. You sat back on your bed, and there wasn't a single part of your body that wasn't shaking.

You wiped at your cheek roughly when you felt a tear drop against your cheek, releasing a deep sigh.

And just like that, the drops turned into streams that evolve into a flood. Your vision became blurry and with every blink, the dam broke more.

You stopped fighting against it and finally accepted that you were crying, and allowed yourself to.

You remembered that the worst type of crying is when it's completely silent while an arm or hand is covering either your eyes or mouth and that was the state you found yourself in now.

Even though your sobs were silent, your breath hitched every once in a while. All of a sudden, your heart screamed and it immediately ripped itself out of your quivering lips and throughout the empty room.

You sat there, weeping with your arms wrapped around yourself, a deep, empty void in your chest. Every breath felt like it stopped halfway to your lungs.

You had no one to turn to. You were completely alone.

That was when you did something you never thought you would. Something you swore you would never do under any circumstance. But desperate times called for desperate measures you supposed.

You steadied your breath, hiccuping a quiet sob as you clasped your hands together in silent prayer.

You started praying to the Evil One. The Devil himself.

You thought back to everything you learned from your mother about how to pray to him, though most of it had fallen on deaf ears, you vaguely remembered bits and pieces of what she had told you.

You pleaded with him to let your mother rest peacefully where she wanted, in eternal hellfire and darkness, and in that said prayer, you found yourself asking something for Michael, too. You asked him to give Michael the answers he was seeking and to go easy on him, to let him find something good out of this dark time, to help him rise above it. And in that moment, you could feel Miriam smiling down at you. For once in your life, you finally felt like you made her proud.

Five long days had passed, and you had spent most of it indoors, grieving, doing nothing productive with your life, but you were done feeling sorry for yourself. The pity party had to end eventually.

You had plenty of time to think and what you did on the day you lost your mother and Michael, it was a one time thing, never to happen again. You shouldn't said that prayer. You did it in a moment of weakness, it was stupid and now looking back on it, you wished that you could take it back. You weren't a believer and that was that.

No more sulking and hiding from the world. You had to rejoin society.

You went to your local cafe, eating a breakfast plate when you heard talk of a Satanic church located in the below ground chambers of an alleyway. There was a young woman talking to a friend of hers about how the High Priestess there believed that enough sin would encourage the arrival of the Antichrist. That practically screamed Michael Langdon.

You stabbed the last piece of your pancake and chewed it pensively before you headed out of the cafe, determined to find this place.

After some aimless wandering, you finally found the upside down cross printed on a wall in the alleyway. That was when you ventured in and spotted an older man donned in all black clothing sitting by the door.

You approached the man, "Hey, did you see a lost blonde boy head in there?"

"Lots of people come by here," he simply shrugged, his face nonchalant.

"That doesn't really answer my question," you said in a bitter tone.

"Are you stalking someone? You don't seem like the type of girl who would voluntarily head in there," the man accused.

"What? No, I'm not stalking anybody. And what's that supposed to mean?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"Are you a believer?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"Oh don't ask me that nonsense. Just open the damn door, asshat," you demanded, your patience was running thin.

"Alright, if you say so. Who am I to deny a fellow believer?" he said with a hint of a smirk, opening the door for you.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes.

"Whatever," you muttered under your breath.

You stepped inside and when you heard the door slam shut, you turned your head back, starting to second guess your decision to come here. But it was a little too late for that.

You walked down the stairs, your footsteps a little unsteady, and that was when you heard it.

"You are the son of Satan, there is no one, or no thing you cannot have."

You made your way down and spotted Michael seated at a table covered in food, a Satanic congregation behind him, an older woman next to him, named Madelyn, her hands were upon his shoulders as she whispered to him.

Michael's gaze was on her but then his eyes flitted over to you and it felt like the world around you stopped for a moment. The gaze you two shared was unwavering. The lady next to him seemed to notice this and without giving it another thought, you walked forward and took the seat across from him.

"Can you give us a moment?" you asked.

"Is that okay with you?" Madelyn questioned after a beat, looking at Michael for approval.

Michael nodded at her and she walked away slowly and reluctantly, her eyes on you as she joined her congregation.

"What's wrong with Crazy Eyes? Geeze," you grumbled.

"You're the last person I expected to see here," Michael said, a distant look in his eyes and a condescending smile on his face as he stabbed his food aggressively with a fork.

"The only reason why I came is to look for you," you told him.

"Well you found me, in the flesh," Michael replied, sarcasm in his tone.

"You know this is the last place I want to be, right?" you asked, making sure he was aware of that fact.

"Yeah, so why are you here?" Michael questioned, giving a slight shrug.

"Don't play dumb. It's not a good look for you," you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Did you want to try the spinach lasagna?" Michael asked with a hint of malice in his voice, changing the subject.

"No, I don't want to try the fucking spinach lasagna," you spat. You were like a lioness, fiery and strong. "We need to talk. What happened to you in the woods? Did you ever contact your father? Did he help you in some way?"

"That's none of your business. Besides, what does it matter to you? It's not like you care or anything, you've voiced time and time again that you don't give a damn about what happens to me," Michael croaked, a cruel glare overtaking his features.

"Michael, we both lost her. I wanted you to know that you weren't alone, that you had me. You're not the only one who's grieving, who's struggling with this. I am, too," you reminded him. "You were out in the wilderness and I was trying to get a hold of her, but I couldn't. I was hoping she was at the church, on some strange Satanic mission and maybe that's why she wasn't answering me, it's happened before. I came back as soon as I could, but they moved fast. And then I saw what was left of her. How do you think I felt when I saw that?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion.

His face softened a little and he sighed deeply, averting his gaze from yours and staring back at the plate in front of him.

"She was my mother. She wasn't perfect. We didn't agree on a whole lot and we sure had our fair share of nasty fights but she was still my mother, she was the one who raised me, and that counts for something," you said with a frown.

"I'm sorry. I just... I just didn't know what to do. I'm lost. I'm lost without her," Michael whispered, his face was scrunched up and his deep blue eyes were hidden behind a veil of tears. He looked broken and helpless, and you felt your heart clench at the sight. Miriam had been everything to him; his role model, his friend, and his inspiration. He felt like he was drowning, lost at sea, so alone, but he didn't have to be.

"I know, Michael. You loved her, she was like a mother to you. And I know that she would want us to try and get through this together, to not fight for once, to be there for each other," you told him, an earnest look in your eyes.

"It hurts. It hurts so bad. I just miss her so much," Michael choked out. "I miss her every day. Everything is too much for me. I lost the person who I could always depend on, who actually truly loved me. I never had anyone like that before."

"I miss her, too," you whispered. You reached your hand out and touched his own that was planted on the table. You looked for any signs that this would upset him and you didn't find any so you caressed it gently with your fingers in an attempt to soothe the ache in his heart.

"I thought my father would have all the answers, that he would help me through it, but turns out I was wrong. I was out there for four days. Four fucking days, begging for him to tell me what to do, to give me a fucking sign. But what did I get? Jack shit. I thought I was going to go crazy out there," Michael croaked, his eyes welling up with tears.

"I'm sorry, Michael," you murmured. "What a fucking asshole," you whispered that last part to yourself.

"Hey, he may have left me hung out to dry, but you still can't talk like that," Michael stressed. That's right, it was blasphemous to talk that way to Michael, and you even took it a step further by saying it in this Satanic church.

"Alright, whatever, I get it," you replied.

"I can't get it out of my head, what I saw that day. I keep thinking about what those witches did to her," Michael said, his voice sounded small but it was still filled with rage.

"I haven't been able to think about much else either," you admitted.

"I keep wanting to tell her things, expecting her to be there whenever I need her, or for her to give me advice when I don't have the answers, but that's all gone now. I can't bring her back. I'm not strong enough," Michael whispered, his voice breaking.

You listened and held onto his hand, intertwining your fingers with his own. He gripped onto your hand, and you could feel the slight tremble of his fingers on yours.

"I just don't know what to do anymore. I can't do this on my own. I need help," Michael confessed, a tremble in his voice.

"We'll figure it out, together," you told him, without giving your words much thought at all, the answer came naturally.

"We? I didn't think there was a 'we'," Michael said with a confused expression, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, someone's gotta look after you. Look at you, you're a mess. My mom's not here anymore, so I guess that burden falls on me," you insisted.

"So I'm just a burden now? I'm not a motherfucker or a sack of shit anymore? Well, I guess that's an upgrade," Michael noted, the corner of his lip quirking up slightly.

"Yeah, something like that," you said, your lips curling into a small smile.

"I just thought I didn't mean anything to you," Michael mentioned, thinking back to the day when you told him the night you two shared together didn't mean anything.

You took a long moment, processing his words. You felt really bad. You didn't even mean it. It did mean something to you. Of course it did.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I said. You did just save my cat and I was being kind of an asshole," you apologized, feeling awkward now to be putting yourself in a vulnerable position.

"Did I hear that correctly? Did you just apologize?" Michael asked in a skeptical tone, like he couldn't believe his ears, but at the same time he sounded slightly amused.

"Yeah, I did. But it's not gonna happen again so are you going to accept it or not?" you shot back in a snarky tone.

Michael pondered before he answered, "I suppose. I would love to hear you beg for it, but I won't press my luck."

"Yeah, that would be wise," you replied with a playful roll of your eyes, and it elicited a small, quiet chuckle from Michael.

"That woman, who you called Crazy Eyes, her name is Madelyn. She was kind enough to let me stay with her. She was there for me, but now she won't stop going on and on about how I'm the Chosen One, how special I am, and I just really need a break from it all," Michael vented.

"You don't have to stay with her. You can stay with me," you offered. This could be an opportunity for you two to finally get along.

"Are you sure? Living together didn't work out so well the last time. You're not gonna bang on the bathroom and yell at me if I'm in the shower too long? Or if I ask a favor from you, you're not going to tell me to get it myself and then slam the door in my face?" Michael asked, a pout on his lips.

"No. No, I won't do that. I'll be on my best behavior," you assured.

"Do you promise?" Michael questioned.

"I promise," you answered.

"Okay, then I guess that wouldn't be so bad," Michael shrugged, a hint of a smile peeking through his lips.

You grabbed his hand and led him out of the godforsaken place, taking him back home.


	12. Heaven Sent and Hell Bent

The moment he stepped foot back in the house, you were quick to notice that his eyes were taking in everything, lingering around every space.

It was like he was looking at everything for the first time again, with a pair of new eyes, this time with a deep rooted sadness attached to the familiar place.

Michael wanted to say something. You could see it in his partly opened lips, something was waiting on the tip of his tongue, though it was left unsaid. You didn't ask what was wrong, you knew, so you just watched as Michael took it all in as if you were trying to memorize each other's pain.

You could have left, for all intents and purposes, and yet you were with him. You had come for him, your hand extended for him to take, your arms catching him as he fell, your voice in his ear welcoming him home. You wanted to try and be a beacon of hope for him. It felt wrong to hold onto the anger you once had for him. Things were different now. So much different. They had been since the night you two slept together and the morning after. And now, you had both lost Miriam, she was your mother, and a mother figure to him. You were both grieving. You needed to let go of your past frustration and hostility towards him.

By the time you reached your room, he was a full blown mess.

There were tears gathering in his eyes and he was staring down at the ground, not wanting you to see him in such a weak, vulnerable state.

You pulled him against your chest, squeezing him tight to your body. And that did it, Michael sniffled loudly as you held him, gripping the fabric of your blouse tightly as his knuckles turned white, and then the first sobs escaped his lips, his shoulders shaking in your embrace until they took over his whole body.

"It's just not fair," Michael choked out brokenly. "It's not fair, not fair, not fair..."

He was probably going to keep repeating it, but the sobs took over again, a new bout of tears rushing out of his eyes.

It was not silent crying – not like the quiet tears of disappointment when you visited him in the jail cell – but full-out bawling, with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose and desperate gasps in an effort to just keep breathing. It was worse than a kicked puppy. He didn't look like the Antichrist like this. He didn't look like the one who was to bring about the end times. No, underneath all of that, he was broken and flawed, just like you.

"It's okay, I'm here," you whispered and pressed a soft kiss on the top of his head.

You were beyond relieved, because you knew Michael needed this, but at the same time you felt completely useless, there was nothing you could do to make this easier for him, nothing you could say to make things right. So you did the only thing you could, holding him close to you. His tears formed a wet patch on your blouse, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. He clung to you, like a child would cling to their mother.

The feeling of helplessness washed over you again, and suddenly there were tears in your eyes as well. You took a deep breath that got stuck in your throat, and you tightened your hold around Michael's shoulders, making sure he was still there, safe and real and right.

You pressed your face into his hair when you couldn't hold the tears anymore, letting them fall into the soft curls, breathing in the familiar scent. Initially wary and cautious around him (and borderline hating his guts), you found that you were slowly but surely endearing yourself to this man.

These were the feelings you had been in denial of for quite some time, you were actively fighting against it, believing you were strong enough not to feel it if you just ignored it and pushed it away, but now, you couldn't turn away.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know how I'm going to get through this," Michael admitted.

"Hey, hey look at me," you told him.

He didn't answer you. He only continued to cry.

"Michael, look at me," you repeated yourself, this time more earnestly.

He looked up from your chest, his eyes puffy and tears still streaming down his face.

"You have me. You're not alone, okay? You've got me," you reassured him in a breathy whisper. "We'll make it through this."

Michael's eyes roamed over your face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. He found none. He nodded slowly, roughly wiping his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. His voice was still a bit off, sounding far too thick and shaking slightly. "Okay."

You lifted your hands to Michael's face to wipe away the quiet tears from his cheeks.

After some untold time, his shoulders subsided, and he relaxed into you, head cradled on your shoulder, forehead warm against your neck. His hair was disheveled and you smoothed some of the strands back, carding it between your fingers as you brushed it away from his temple.

"I missed being with you," Michael murmured so quietly that you almost didn't hear him.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice nearly breaking. "And I'm not going anywhere."

He was quiet.

You held onto him still, letting Michael cling to you as long as he needed to until the racking sobs had turned to small hitches and the tears had begun to dry on his cheeks. You didn't let go because you weren't leaving, would never leave, and like this, tucked in close to him, Michael was safe here, safe and yours.

"Can you forgive me?" he asked, his voice ending on a pleading note. "For being so cruel to you when you were hurting too?"

You gently brushed the tuft of slightly sweaty hair that was in his eyes out of the way, your fingers lingering as you offered him a smile.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can. I forgive you Michael," you replied softly.

He sighed, leaning in to your caress, and his lips brushed your neck as he moved. A quiet gasp escaped your lips at the sensation and your fingers clenched, tugging at the hair between them. His arms tightened around you in response and you flushed, forcing your fingers to relax. He didn't loosen his embrace, though, and after a moment you felt lips brush along your neck again.

The first touch had been an accident, you were sure, but the second most assuredly was not. Feather light kisses traveled up from your shoulder to the pulse point behind your ear and back again, and then he paused, drew back.

When Michael's shaking had all but subsided, you leaned back just enough for Michael to lift his head and look at you. Michael was beautiful, still, even after all that; of course he was, when did he not? It was unfair, actually, for him to still be so damn pretty with his eyes shot through with red and his face puffy and tired from crying. He still seemed like he was searching your face for some sign that this was a trick, that you would tell him it was all for nothing and cast him away, but once again, there was nothing but sincerity and warmth.

You met his gaze and the question there, leaning in, brushing your lips against his, parting them as he responded with fervor. The kisses continued, their intensity continuing to increase, breathing grown ragged, hearts pounding together as you two expressed in touch what you couldn't say in words. He clutched at you like he was trying to hold onto the memory of a rapidly fleeing dream.

Your hand went to the back of his head, fingers in his hair, and you kissed him once more, deep and heated. "It's okay," you murmured, tugging Michael in close to your chest. "It's okay."

Michael couldn't resist the urge to lean close and kiss you again.

There were no tears to taste now, only Michael, warm and pliable to your touch when you ran your fingers over his shoulders and collarbones. Michael leaned up and into the touch, into the kiss itself, his hands leaving your back to cup your face, thumbs sweeping over your jaw. Michael kissed you slowly as if he was committing each second to memory so he could relive it later, and his soft lips no longer felt like sadness but like Michael. He dropped his hands, resting them lightly against your chest, drawing you in with the warmth of his palms. He guided you towards the bed and brought you down upon the mattress.

You two had danced around one another like two flickering shadows in a lighthouse for quite some time now. And now it seemed you were both tired, so long ago, of such a game. Instead of intangible, you were right beneath him, and he thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

You two were so close, you were sharing breath. Your breasts brushed against his chest, your hand cupping the back of his neck, and he wished he wasn't supporting himself on both hands so he could just touch you like he had been yearning to. His whole body just wanted to come over you, be skin to skin with you, drink you in.

Slowly, as though giving you every moment to turn away, he brought his lips just an inch over your own, hovering. He was almost trembling with the effort and he felt his pulse jump nervously, his body on edge. For a moment, he couldn't move: your skin was so soft against him. He closed his eyes, too close to really see you anyway, trying to prepare himself to lower down, but you beat him to it: your hold on the back of his neck tightened and he felt you apply pressure, guiding him to your mouth so he could properly kiss you and he felt like the tension both drained away and intensified.

You breathed out his name against his mouth, the sweetest lilt of "Michael," before you tilted your face. You met at the perfect angle, your lower lip between his teeth, his cupid's bow in prime position to be taken between your teeth, and he wanted you. Wanted to breathe you. He wanted to drink you in and never come up for any other kind of air. His head was spinning in a way that was so familiar to madness, and yet nothing like it all at the same time.

You were someone he both understood and didn't, a familiar anomaly he was ever-curious about. Now that he had felt your lips on his, had your body beneath him, he wanted to feel your touch everywhere: on his throat, his shoulders, down his chest, and lower, lower, lower. You muffled a pleased hum against his mouth, shifting and lifting your hips to grind against his, but he supported himself on one elbow so he could hold you down with his now free hand, leaving you to whine in confusion. He just didn't want you to go too fast. He didn't want you to feel lost in the moment, like every action was a push. It was your choice no matter what. His choice, too. And in that moment, his choice was that he wanted to memorize you: to memorize the feeling of your skin, your hands stroking down his back, your tongue gently swiping over his teeth. You left him feeling like he was spiraling out of control and yet, as he tangled his hand in your hair, still supporting himself on an elbow, he used you as leverage.

He wondered how was it possible for you to be both the storm and the shelter?

You were a language he wanted to speak. You were a language he was speaking as you arched against him, straining against his hand. He pulled away from your lips to look at you, and as he hovered over you, glancing down at your flushed face, something inside of his chest throbbed.

You realized this wasn't the same Michael who fucked you with total abandon in his bedroom. This wasn't the Michael who always had a snarky, smart comment waiting on the tip of his tongue, who pushed you and bedeviled you.

No, this was another side of him. A more vulnerable, tender, softer side. This Michael wanted to connect with you on a very intimate level. This Michael wanted to make love to you.

This caused a whirlwind of butterflies to flutter in your stomach. You didn't know how you went from trying to kill him to this. Michael was full of surprises.

You were flushed, your cheeks were heated, your lips darkened and swollen. He had bitten at your pout a few times in your kissing, and he welcomed the gentle swell of your mouth. But it was your gaze that really caught his attention as you opened your eyes. It was warm, and when you took in his face, your entire expression contorted into such overwhelming tenderness, he felt like his entire body would go clumsy under such a stare.

Gently, you curved a palm over his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone, your fingertips running over his ear as you led his face back to your own. However, at the last possible moment, you softly pushed so he turned his head, and your warm lips came over his jaw, trailing to his ear.

His breath hitched when you bit down on his earlobe, worrying the flesh between your teeth as you let go of his cheek, tangling your fingers in his hair as your free hand came beneath his black shirt, rubbing circles on his back. Michael groaned, arching to you completely, feeling boneless and pliant in your hold.

With you, it felt like every touch was fire, sparks on your fingertips, sparks beneath his skin. Your heart swelled up in your chest, pressing against his as you moved away from his ear, facing him once more as you scrunched his shirt up, encouraging him to slide if off before you pressed your mouths together again.

His back was exposed to the cool breeze that was ever-present in the room, but he felt hot all over when your fingers smoothed down his spine and you whimpered into his mouth, opening your lips to accept his tongue inside.

With a slowness that almost bordered on teasing, he moved his hand beneath your blouse, freeing your hips once more and pushing the fabric of your top up to around your breasts.

You gasped out before you grabbed his wrist, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, he thought he had done something wrong. Everything in him stuttered. Maybe he wasn't mean to touch things as good as you were. Maybe everyone had been right the entire time: that he deserved to be alone, that there was nothing he could do to keep his mind off of the gaping, aching solitude. That everyone would eventually leave him, one way or another.

But that wasn't what happened. With you, nothing was ever as he expected it. Instead, you lifted yourself up on one elbow, bringing your hand beneath your shirt so you could unclasp your black bra, freeing your breasts. Michael stopped breathing for a moment as you reared up, looping the fabric of your top up until your entire torso was exposed to him. When you were done, you flopped back against the pillows, your face amused from his dumbstruck expression before you grasped his hand, pressing his palm to your skin, bringing his fingers to your ribs.

"Touch me," you requested, angling your face so you could kiss him harder, and he had never wanted to do anything more in his entire life. He thought, as irrational as it was, that his hands were created to touch you, to trace over each bump of your rib cage, to smooth over your stomach. Your skin was warm and responsive, and your tongue traced his lip line while he tenderly explored your torso. He moved his palms up, taking a moment of hesitancy before he cupped your heavy breast, his thumb locating your nipple and rubbing. He felt your breath hitch, and as you moved away from the kiss, your hair brushed over his face.

He was breathing hard as he adjusted his weight, holding himself up on his knees to free up both hands, and as one continued to cup you, the other came up so his fingers could stroke the flesh beneath your breasts, between them. Your hips strained upward, rubbing against him, and he hissed when he felt the jolt of pleasure shiver up his spine. Especially when he looked at you, saw how you were pushing your breasts further into his touch, how your face was open and yearning, your lip between your teeth as he rubbed your nipple.

As his gaze moved downward, he took note of the column of your neck, still entirely unmarked, and it sparked something inside of him that felt primal. He cupped your other breast, kneading your flesh with both palms as he leaned over you, nuzzling beneath your jaw before trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down the line of your throat. You gasped when he found your jugular, cataloguing your breath. Each thump against his tongue, the speed of your pulse quickening, told him he was doing the right thing.

This time, he was the one who ground down, aligning your pelvises so he could give you more pleasure, and when you threw your head back, he pinched one of your nipples just as he laid a bite onto your skin, listening in to your cry.

He felt your fingers come to his hair once more, tangling in the locks, and a jolt of heat ran through him when he realized that you were using him as a means of leverage. You had made no move to gain control, yielding to his touch, trusting him completely, and it made the ache between your legs intensify. He rubbed himself against you, eager for you to know just what you were doing to him, and you gasped once more, trying to spread your legs farther, though your skirt prevented you from going too far. If anything, the restraint only added to your pleasure, and he bit down more roughly on your skin, sure to mark, before he eased up, sucking softly instead.

When he focused, he could hear your soft panting, and licked the bite, sure to become a hickey and already darkening, only a few more times before he pulled away to catalogue you.

Your chest was heaving. Your breasts looked like they had swelled, your arousal making it so that your nipples were achingly hard between his fingers, and he couldn't help but smile at the sight of your head being tipped back, at your eyes falling shut, your face contorted in pleasure. He bent his head to kiss and nip over your collarbone before he licked a line between your breasts, ghosting hot breath over you and making you shiver. Your hand was still tangled in his hair, and he nuzzled between your breasts as he continued rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, setting a kiss to your sternum.

The soft sounds you made were making his head spin. All he wanted was to hear you pant out his name, to have you so overwhelmed by his hands and his mouth that you could only stutter out broken pleas for more.

Slowly, all too slowly, he slid his hands from your breasts, listening in to your whimper as he traced his touch down your skin, over your navel. And his mouth followed, leaving a burning line of kisses that made your stomach feel like it was coiling tight. As he got to your hips, his left hand found the zipper that kept your skirt up, and he glanced up at you, shuffling backward so he could get more comfortable.

He spoke your name all of a sudden, but it was in the form of a question, all his movement stilling until you answered him. He watched as you fluttered your eyes opened at his hesitancy, your brows coming together.

"Michael?" you asked, but his touch didn't move.

He desperately wanted to see you, and he was yearning to touch you.

But he didn't tell you any of that. Instead, his mouth only opened with a simple, "Can I?" and as his eyes locked with your own, he felt his face warm when you smiled at him, looking absolutely radiant. Gently, you dislodged your hold on his hair, instead finding your zipper and moving his hand away so you could take it down yourself. With that, you shoved the material around, shoving the fabric down your body until your panties were exposed. Michael lifted himself up, one of his hands sliding beneath you so he could cup your ass and ease you up, pulling your skirt off after you nodded at him.

There was nothing left between him and you but the thin material of your hipsters. Yet, when he glanced between your legs, he took notice that you had left a dark, wet spot in the fabric, and he couldn't help but smirk at the fact.

He knew you were turned on, but he didn't know it was so bad that you had soaked through your panties. Pride swelled up in him as he pressed the backs of his fingers to the material and gave a long stroke, leaving you bucking into his touch. He repeated the motion one more time, listening to you take in a ragged breath, before your hand came over his once again.

Michael looked up at you, questioning, and when you met his gaze, your pupils were so blown open that there was barely a sliver of your iris left visible.

"Something you need?" he quipped, his free hand massaging your outer thigh. You made a frustrated sound, purposely wiggling.

"C'mon, stop teasing," you said, spreading your legs even farther as you moved your hand off of his to instead hitch your fingers beneath the elastic of your panties.

He didn't stop you. He only watched as you lifted your hips to remove your underwear right in front of his eyes. And he took in everything: every motion of your body, the way the fabric clung to your folds for a single moment before you pulled the material away, how you exposed yourself to him so willingly.

When you were done, he slid his hand beneath you once more, lifting you up so he could get a better look, and the second he did, he felt your embarrassment spike through your entire body and how it grew taut. You were glistening and wet, and he took note of every detail, not once looking away for anything. Your hands came down to his shoulders, and when he looked up at you, you were just close enough that your face wasn't blurry.

You could feel his lips tip up to a smile, and he leaned forward so he could kiss your inner thighs, first one and then the other, and he listened to your breath hitch. Carefully, he brought his free hand to between your legs, to between your lips, and trailed a line from your soft, welcoming opening to your clit, which was engorged and flushed. You bucked, a high whine tearing from you at the unexpected motion, and he found it so intoxicating to listen to. Gently, he pulled your hood back before he rubbed you with his thumb, looking up so he could see the line your body made as you arched, how your head went back, exposing the darkened mark he left on your throat.

He could feel his heartbeat everywhere in him when he took in how slick you were, your body so yearning that he could effortlessly glide his fingers down, circling your opening once, twice, a third time, before he called your name, forced you to look down at him just as he slid his middle finger to the knuckle.

Your nails bit into his shoulders, your legs twitching as you welcomed him inside, and he nuzzled your lips before he finally allowed himself to taste you, licking a line from where his finger was inside of you back to your clit, forming a seal with his mouth and sucking.

You wailed, one of your legs over his shoulder, the other trapped beneath him, and you pressed your calf to the back of his head to push him forward, urging him on. Your panting filled his ears, your calls and encouragements as he crooked his finger, tapping over the swollen part inside of you and feeling you get wetter around him. The taste of you on his tongue made him throb, downright aching for you. He felt the strain against his pants, but he refrained from stopping what he was doing, instead thrusting his finger inside of you, making sure to catch the front of your walls with his fingertip, leaving you in spasms. He knew if he looked at his hand, you would have left even his palm glistening from how wet you were.

Carefully, he slid a second finger inside you, tracing circles around your clit with his tongue before lapping over with long, languid strokes. You called out for him, your breath sighing into the air in pleasure as he slowly explored you. You were burning on the inside, your body hot and practically dripping, and he felt you throb around his fingers, the pulsing getting stronger and stronger. He sucked harder on your clit, listening as your calls for him got higher and higher in pitch.

"Th-there!" you said, thrusting down feverishly onto his hand and face. "Fuck, Michael! R-Right there!"

He heard how your voice rounded out into a higher soprano than usual as you keened, and he pulled his face away from between your thighs so he could watch your face as you came, the breath in your body practically sucked away as he took note of how your breasts thrust forward, your eyes rolled back, your face pinched up in ecstasy.

He couldn't help but groan, feeling like he was going to tumble over the edge just from watching you. Your taste was still on his tongue, your walls were still fluttering hard around his fingers, and experimentally, he pressed over that sweet spot once more, watching how you popped your mouth open and squirmed, still trying to work your way through your climax.

Something warmed in his chest and he moved the hand that was cupping your ass away from under you, using it to unbutton his pants, shoving the material down his hips until he could kick the fabric off and away, and then did the same with his underwear. Still keeping his fingers inside of you, he moved up your body, kissing both your hip bones before he nipped at your navel, licking up the line of your body, between your breasts and to the dip of your collarbones. His arm came around you, clutching you to his body, and only when the pulsing around his fingers eased did he moved out of you so he could clutch you to him more fully.

"Michael," you whispered, your voice breathy and thin as your body relaxed fully in his hold, and he nipped up your throat until he was face to face with you again. Your noses bumped, and he smiled down at you, memorizing your flushed, post-orgasm face. Slowly, he pressed your hips together once more, and you shivered when you felt the hard line of him on your skin. But instead of paying himself any mind, he cupped your face, gently kissing you and opening his mouth so he could share your taste.

When you grasped his hair once more, your other hand soothed over the crescent-shaped marks you left on his shoulders.

And then, he felt your touch trace downward, your palm finding itself between you two, even as you kept him in place with your hold on his blonde locks. He could barely do anything, barely wanted to do anything, when your hand found his shaft and your thumb dabbed at his precum. You pulled away from him when you felt how much there was, blushing brightly when you rested your forehead against his and looked down, taking in how he had slicked your stomach from where the liquid was dripping out of him.

"Oh, Michael," you whispered, gently caressing him, forcing a low cry out of him as you ran your finger down the underside of him, cupping his balls for a moment before you moved your way back up. When your palm started stroking close to the head, he bucked forward, and you could feel how he heated up, keeping your thumb on the vein so you could note how hard he was throbbing. Carefully, you squirmed around, all the while, he kept his eyes shut, surrendering to the feeling of your hands as they stroked over him, before you spread your legs and brought him between your thighs, between your lips.

The heat was the first thing he felt, and he tensed immediately, a moan ripping out of him as he started rocking without even meaning to. You smiled, kissing his cheek, your own breathing picking up speed as he rubbed against you. Michael's hold on you tightened, his arms strong and powerful as they almost crushed you to his chest, his hips stuttering back and forth.

You swallowed, moaning lowly when the head brushed over your clit, and you fluttered your eyes shut as he didn't stop, only lengthening the strokes he was making between your legs. Your legs wrapped around him and you let go of your hold on his hair so you could wrap your arm around his neck, instead, listening to his panting mixing with your own, feeling the coil in your stomach tighten once more.

"Michael," you muttered, moving with him as he continued rocking, "that feels so good. You feel so good."

Finally, he moved his face from your own, licking your jaw as he moved down your neck, kissing your throat and nipping at the skin as his heart rate spiked. You cried out at the motion, the hold your legs had around him tightening. The motion brought your lips closer together, making him downright whimper as he bucked. He didn't notice how you were chanting his name until you roughly yanked on his hair, pulling his face away from the crook of your neck before you looked him in the eyes, biting your lower lip.

"Michael," you choked out, writhing beneath him, your body heat rising up as your entire body flushed. You scratched down his back, your hand grasping his hip to still him. He made a frustrated noise, feeling himself pull away from his peak, but your mouth found his again, and he couldn't even think straight as he kissed you back, his hand on your lower back, his other rubbing your side. Your hold on his hip was firm, your fingers digging in slightly, making sure that he wouldn't move. Gently, your tongue came out, swiped over the meat of his lower lip, and he opened his mouth to you, accepting the way you tenderly traced his teeth, sighing against him.

Your warm, wet body was still at the forefront of his mind, reminding him of how desperately he wanted relief, but you only kept kissing him, delicately sliding your tongue against his own. When you pulled away, he could see a thin string of saliva that still connected you two as you kissed over his face, your eyelashes fluttering over his skin until you got to his ear, mimicking your position from before.

This time, however, you didn't bite down. Instead, you nuzzled at him, bringing your lips close to the shell of his ear before you pulled him closer, using your hold around his neck. "Michael," you said, saying his name so sweetly he had to close his eyes. "Oh, Michael," you repeated, licking the shell of his ear, "I want you inside of me."

He groaned sharply, hearing you say those words making his whole form tense up in anticipation.

You let go of his hip, surrendering yourself to him, and Michael pressed his cheek to your own for just a moment, basking in the closeness until he turned his head, your noses bumping until he found your mouth again.

You groaned against his lips when he adjusted himself, positioning until his head was at your opening, still slick and soft and open. Holding himself like that, not yet inside of you yet entirely lined up made him tremble, and he pulled away from your mouth, softly calling your name as he hovered over you. Your eyes opened slowly, and when he could look at you properly, connecting your gazes, he slowly slid himself inside of you. He watched the way your expression contorted into surprise, how you flushed harder at the feeling of him stretching you open.

Your lower lip trembled as he pushed himself into you, so incredibly slowly, maintaining eye contact with you. The whimper from your throat was different, this time, higher, more ragged, and he felt your hands stroke down his back, massaging his skin. He watched you to see how deep was too deep, reading your face. Slowly, when he brought himself in almost all the way, he brought his touch downward, rubbing you and the way your breath hitched made his heart stutter, the way your hips moved to take him in deeper.

"Michael!" you called, your head tipping back as he slowly slid out until only the head was inside you, leaving you panting. The warm blush over your face intensified when he held eye contact with you, repeating his slow movement in you. His arm around you was as strong as before, making you feel safe, perfectly encompassed, and he started to speed up, making you all the more frantic.

"Is this good?" he asked, swallowing hard, his breath breaking up his words, making the question sound almost wispy, but you nodded anyway, blinking at him, your mouth popped open as tatters of his name filled your mouth. He took a moment to kiss over your face, over your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your cupid's bow, connecting your mouths for a moment as he aimed upward inside of you, rubbing harder. You broke away from him with a high whine, your eyes rolling up as you met every single motion he made into you.

"Y-Yes! Oh, Michael, yes, keep going," you encouraged, and his arm, still around you, adjusted so he could grasp your jaw, forcing you to look back at him. You keened when you saw his face, clenching around him. He looked wrecked, his mouth so swollen, his face twisted up as he tried to hold out for you. Your heart swelled in your chest, your voice wavering. "Oh please, please don't stop," you begged, noting the strain on his face as he sped up.

You felt everything inside of you tense, your thighs twitching hard as you hitched your legs higher around him, unable to keep speaking unless it was in fragments. "Michael!" you wailed out, thrashing against him. You could feel your orgasm looming, massive and powerful and threatening to rob you of all your sense as Michael's hips met your own again and again. You choked as you repeated his name, you felt everything boil over, your head being thrown side to side as you scratched down Michael's back, your eyes rolling into your head.

Your core was gripping him as your pleasure soared and he was stretching you as much as you could take and you both gloried in it. His thrusts never lost their maddening pace and he continued to pound into you, sending your world into ruins.

"Oh my god, yes!" you cried, bucking against him harshly as you climaxed, every sensation focused between your thighs as your whole body spasmed and you shattered around him, arching from the bed so you were chest to chest with him. The sounds spilling from him were undoing you vein by vein as he met your hips with reckless abandon.

Michael kept moving into you, all rhythm gone as you tightened around him, pulsing so hard it was as though you were trying to keep him inside of you. His name on your tongue made him dizzy, forcing his breath to choke in his throat, and he hadn't realized that he was calling your name on repeat, like prayer, just calling out mindlessly as he chased after his own pleasure. Every sound in his throat was being cut off, choked off before it was finished, stuttered before it was started, and he clenched his eyes tight when he brought himself deep inside of you, losing himself to you completely and coming with a sharp gasp, clutching you so tightly he thought he was going to mold you two together. Your foreheads clashed together, sweaty and hot.

You two laid like that, panting and trembling and entirely vulnerable for what felt like too long, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He hadn't collapsed onto you, not entirely, but he was barely holding himself up. Slowly, he moved to pull out of you, only to be stopped by your hand on his lower back, keeping him inside of you as you tightened once more. Michael bit his lip, both of you hypersensitive to any kind of touch, but if you wanted him to wait, then he would wait.

Your legs had fallen from around him, landing on the bed as you tried to collect yourself, but you were still whispering, barely. The only language you knew was his name, and he couldn't help but kiss you because of that. He didn't know how he could keep existing if he didn't kiss you, feeling you tremble around him, against him, as you brought your shaky fingers to his jaw, your entire body pliant and welcoming and so soft against him.

Against his lips, he felt your mouth and you said, "Please stay with me," and he deepened the kiss. It was perfect.

He never wanted to pull away. He was desperate to commit you to memory and to show you from now on that he belonged to you and no one else.

Maybe you weren't an angel. Maybe he wasn't a devil. Maybe there was enough light and dark in you two to make a full day, to turn the earth, to push and pull the tides. Maybe you two had been cast out of heaven, but you two fell together, a blaze of morning sun, and you made your own out of whispers and kisses and contentment.

You stayed entangled together for some time, enjoying the feel of your bodies pressed together until you both found sleep.

When you awoke, your mind still hazy and foggy, you saw Michael staring up at the ceiling with a pensive look in his eyes.

You moved closer to him, resting your head upon his shoulder when you asked, "What are you thinking about?"

He took a long moment to respond, and he didn't look back at you when he answered, "I'm going to bring Ms. Mead back. I'm going to bring her back and I'm going to kill every last one of those witches, they are all going to burn."

You swallowed hard, an overwhelming sense of dread clinging to you now.


	13. To Love a Monster

You were hoping he wasn't serious about bringing your mother back, but Michael wasn't really the joking type, and he was dead serious about this. You were quick to disagree with him when he told you about his plan. It was all thanks to that woman Madelyn, she knew people with the resources to make it possible. Madelyn had taken Michael to a privately owned organization later that day and there he met two scientists named Jeff and Mutt who had the tools to bring back Miriam, in automaton form. You told Michael that it wouldn't really be Miriam, it'd just be a robot that looked like her, but that didn't matter to Michael, the only thing that did was seeing her again, alive in some way.

Michael kept going on and on about how he was going to kill the witches and how he wanted to do it. You begged him not to, warning him that it would only result in a war. You tried to get those dark thoughts out of his head and told him that it just be a perpetual vicious cycle if he got revenge, no one would win, but he was hell-bent. You believed that maybe you had convinced him after arguing for a little while whenever he would grow silent.

You were angry and hurt too, but you knew better, and you knew that your mother was no saint. She killed a warlock. You hated being in the middle, between the witches and Michael and your mother. It felt like you had chosen Michael, you were living together again and you came back for him, but you still cared for your coven, your sisters. They were so kind to you and welcoming and you actually felt like you were part of a meaningful family. You didn't want revenge. Revenge would only result in both sides trying to kill one another.

Yes, it had felt like you had chosen Michael, but your heart made that decision, not your head. You felt sorry for him, he was broken and lost, and needed someone, needed you. You didn't want to leave him on his own.

You were really starting to question your morals and values, if it was even possible for you to have any after willingly sleeping with the Devil, more than once. Surely, you would burn in eternal hellfire with Miriam and all the other Satanic believers, but probably ten times over. Turns out, you couldn't resist the forbidden fruit. You took one apple and then another and another and another. You had gotten greedy.

And while Jeff and Mutt were working hard on the Miriam automaton in the lab, you and Michael had the whole house to yourselves.

You cooked for him every morning and you slept with him every night, even cuddled with him, too. You were always the big spoon, somehow it always made him feel safe. You two fell into a comfortable routine together and started doing almost everything together, he even started to help you cook, he didn't really know what he was doing and he needed a lot of guidance but the sentiment was what counted. You two would shower or bathe together, which meant there would be no banging on the bathroom door anymore just as promised.

You found that Michael would follow you around everywhere, wherever you went, and whenever you needed to run errands or go grocery shopping or just do anything indoor or outdoors, he was there, with you. He was more than a little clingy. It was like you two were joined at the hip. And you didn't mind, you felt protected around him, and turns out he was good company, too. You started to wonder if things could have always been this way, if you weren't so cruel to him in the beginning, but you couldn't change the past, there was only the present, and it was a part of your history, now.

You didn't know how to define your relationship, and you weren't sure you wanted to, as if doing so would make whatever you two had disappear. The funny thing about it was that you didn't know how, or why, or when the tangle of emotions started, but with every caress, every kiss, every embrace, you felt yourself caring for him and that only made things more complicated. There was this flicker that started to go off inside your brain. Every time when Michael smiled at you, really smiled, every time he casually touched your hand or your shoulder or arm, every time when he leaned just a bit too close to you or looked at you with longing eyes. You were feeling it more than you cared to admit and it worried you. A lot.

You didn't know what you were doing, but you wondered if you were coddling the son of Satan in hopes that you could save him from walking down the dark path his father laid out for him. You didn't know what you were thinking, if you were just buying time before the inevitable, or if what you two had together actually mattered, if it would change anything. He needed someone, someone to draw him away from the darkness, someone to guide him, but he wasn't some bad boy who all the girls wanted to fix. No, he was the Antichrist. He was no innocent. And you didn't know if there was any hope for the Antichrist, but when he held you in his arms or pressed his lips against yours, you started to wonder if maybe there could be.

Everyone deserved to be loved, to be cared for, to be given a chance, maybe that was just what Michael needed. It wasn't like anyone in his life tried to make him feel like he was anything but the incarnation of evil and sin, you included of course, and maybe he didn't have to live up to that damned title. But with believing in that, you would have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and that wasn't going to be easy.

His father hadn't answered him when he was out in the woods, when he was begging for his help, and that hurt Michael, maybe that was enough for him to realize that he didn't need him. Maybe that was enough to make him see the light. Darkness didn't have to win. You were the one who picked him back up and pieced him together again. That was you.

Most nights Michael had nightmares. He had them before, but ever since he lost Miriam, it seemed to become a bigger problem. But you were there for him, always.

The feelings he had for you was a whirlwind of emotion he was unaccustomed to and he wished, sometimes, that he could simply up and leave.

Because the problem with falling for a woman like you was it was so awfully, breathtakingly, perfectly easy. As simple as breathing, autonomous and swift. He had fallen for you hard enough that it was as though coming headfirst off of a thousand foot building, slamming into the sidewalk with enough force to liquefy organs. And yet, he could remember never being happier, more at ease, than by you.

Simple as breathing. Just as necessary.

But falling for you was foolish. It was a vulnerability that needled at him, because if you were anything, you were a wound he couldn't stitch up, a gaping laceration that he couldn't remove. Caring for others was a luxury and a stupidity he had tried to avoid for the majority of his life because he found that he would always end up alone.

Now, waking in cold sweats over seeing your face drain of life in his dreams turned nightmares, he wished he could go back. And at the same time, he would never return to a different life.

The problem was that, after he had lost Miriam, and the hardships you faced together, and the wounds you two wouldn't have recovered from without the other there as support, he never expected you to stay. You were gloriously bright, too gleaming for his hands to touch, lest you illuminate all the sins he had yet to pay for. He was living off of borrowed time, he knew.

When he lays down to sleep, lulled by your warmth as you curled next to him, your soft body pressed to his. And it should be enough for him but his mind was never so kind in the past to spare him the horrors he could conjure up. He had lost Miriam, his mother figure, and now he thought that you could very well slip from his fingers, too.

Because he closed his eyes and he was back there, again. He would see these visions of losing you. He returned, over and over, to the moment after it all went dark, the moon hiding in the sky, and the bile rose in his throat. You. You and what you meant and what you carried- gone. You were dead. The ways in which you would die had varied, but it was either by the hands of his father or his own.

Because when he was asleep, there was never the moment of realization that you were both safe.

Here, there, in his head, it was only him, alone, falling to his knees though he didn't even realize they had buckled, staring up at the sky.

Sometimes it was worse. Sometimes, he was standing there, looking through someone else's eyes. A demon, maybe. The Devil's, even. Because it was only ever you he focused on, the way you were tucked against a side, the way you closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. Your hand always, always came to your stomach, and you sobbed, hard, heavy, and he wanted to hold you, tell you, "I'm here, I'm here," like he has in the past, press you to his chest and hide away your horror and sadness but-

It was too late and the blood was thick and viscous and he shouldn't be able to see the way it seeped into your mouth as you opened it to scream, shouldn't be able to see how you suffocated and-

"Michael! Michael, shhh, it's okay!" he heard and his eyes snapped open, chest heaving as he clawed at the sheets, realizing a moment too late that he was thrashing, breathing too heavily as he stared up at your face. You were glowing, the only illumination left. Because even though the moon was gleaming within the room, you were the only light and he-

He didn't think as he reached up to grasp your hair, pressing you to him, kissing you with a ferocity as though you were the only air and he needed to breathe. Your gasp, your hand coming to settle over your chest as it slipped away from his shoulder, the way you marveled in the moment for just a heartbeat before you kissed him back, soft lips moving pliant against his, made something in his rib cage throb. You were okay, you were alright. His arm came about your waist, holding you even as your mouths disconnected, and you pressed your forehead against his, whispering sweet, reassuring words, worry knotting your muscles.

He murmured your name. There were no 'I love you's in his vocabulary. He didn't know how to say it, if he should say it, when to say it.

The problem was that nightmares were old friends to him. Before you, it was other things. Rooms of isolation, of being locked from the entire world. Before you, it was the monsters, the demons that called out to him, luring him into the darkness. Before you, it was the ruins of a shattered Earth, standing before a massacred scene of bloodied corpses and lifeless eyes, for he was the bringer of the end times, the apocalypse.

Now, it was only you. Now, he has made the foolish, stupid, novice mistake of letting himself care about someone else and God, did he care about you even if he wanted to spare you from his inadequate affections. Now, it was the image of you, in his arms, his hands caked to the elbow. And he couldn't tell if he was helping you or harming you and that was the worst of it all.

What kind of man was he? What kind of man did he want to be?

He chose this. He chose these nightmares. He could have had others.

He knew that was not true. Falling for you did not happen with his consent. But he only stayed because he wanted to. Now, it was only you.

Sometimes, he thinks it always was.

The best scenario was that he woke from the dreams of his hands in your belly, ripping something out, and you were before him, whole and beautiful and trusting. The best scenario was that his hands could find your hips and you would bend to him because he knew you cared for him, trusted him, told him so when he was in your soul, in you, by you close. The best scenario was that you were there.

But there were nights where you were away, when you were off getting a snack, or couldn't sleep and decided to stay up outside of the room. And all he could think was that you were gone for good.

There were nights when he woke from nightmares where the real him, the him of rationality, of understanding, of consciousness, had to watch as some twisted caricature of him mutilated you. With his blood stained hands or otherwise. And he screamed himself hoarse but in reality, he couldn't open his mouth. And when he finally awoke, because you turned to look at him, tears in your eyes, and mouthed, "How could you?" or "I love you" or "I loved you" or "I trusted you", he was grasping the bed sheets and there were tears streaming down his face that he convinced himself was sweat and you weren't there. You weren't there and he thinks his nightmares were memories.

And he deserved this, deserved this, deserved this. It was his damn fault. What business did a man like him have in loving someone? Loving you?

When you finally made your way back to the room, he could feel your worry. And he feigned sleep. And he wanted to get just the slightest bit away from you, push you from him. You settled back in bed, always, tried not to wake him when you came in as close as possible.

And all he did was wait until you were sleeping before he brought his arms around you.

Sometimes, he wondered just how much you could take of having to be his comfort. He was a mess, made of pieces, trying to come back together for you, because of you, because you made him want to be a better man, worthy of your affection.

He was a mess and he was selfish. But when he thinks of those things, it was when he has forgotten the nights when you woke, silently gasping, blinking back something from your eyes.

It was the most selfish part of him that he liked that you had nightmares, too. That they were, in a way, mirrors of each other, compartmentalizing in different ways. It was the ugliest, harshest part of him that reveled in your grief, in your agony, that you understood in ways no one else has ever shown him that they do.

And it was the best in him, the parts that cared for you, that wanted to take that and twist it into his own chest, to keep your pain from you, to take it as his own. Because sometimes he was not the shroud. Sometimes, he was useful and he liked to be, because you woke with a breath as though you were underwater and he immediately knew something was wrong even if he was deep asleep.

There were nights you spent with your head tucked down, remembering the ways in which you lost both of your parents, looking for comfort against him that he was so ready to give. There were nights he spent awkwardly holding you, not quite knowing how, stroking your hair, your back, seating you in his lap. There were nights you spent where you were under him, crying and telling him not to stop, don't ever stop, that, 'please', you needed this, needed him right then.

And he felt useful. And he hated that he wanted to feel useful. And he hated that he wondered if that was why you stuck around through his nightmares, too. Needing to be needed. Wanting to be wanted.

The truth was that he wasn't used to loving anything. And he found when he did, such as Miriam, he believed that in the end he would only lose them. For all the ones who were supposed to love him, had either abandoned him or forsaken him, one way or another. And sometimes, he resented you for unearthing a piece of him he previously believed to be nonexistent.

And other times, he realized it was the best in him. That you were the best of him.

That caring for you was what made him painfully, wonderfully human.

Michael was watching you sleep one night, because it almost seemed wrong to sleep when he could lie here and watch you sleep instead. You were so rarely still when you were awake. Even when you weren't moving you were constantly alert, always taking everything in, never truly at rest. It was a gift to see you like this, brows smooth and limbs slack in the safety of a deep slumber. In the safety of the bed you two shared.

He longed to trace the slope of your nose with his fingertip, but he didn't want to risk waking you so he traced you with his eyes instead as he hovered over you.

Your soft lashes, the line of your jaw, the column of your neck, the shallow curve of a breast half-covered by the sheet. He drank it all in, his eyes focused yet wandering. You were wearing a sheer night gown and a pair of silk panties.

In the pale moonlight, your face was illuminated with a soft glow as you were sprawled out. Your face was turned towards him, your breaths rolling softly against his skin. You started to shift around, your legs carefully curling around his and lips parted in a few unintelligible words.

Michael couldn't help himself and his hands grazed at your bare skin, his fingers tracing over the outline of your jaw. Your breaths continued to brush against his face and he watched the way your nostrils flared with every intake of air. Your lips, ones that he has grown to crave like an unhealthy addiction, pout every so slightly as your eyebrows furrowed, a sign that you must be dreaming. And he still couldn't believe that you were his.

He traced his fingers over the shape of your lips before they slid below your chin as he tried to draw constellations on you, trying to conjure his own stories that he wanted to linger on your skin. His fingers traced the marks he left on your neck, the spots of purple and blue that bloomed against your skin.

In the end, his drawings came down to a mere shape: a heart, that he drew and looped on your arm over and over. He didn't quite understand the feelings that stirred and whirred in the pit of his stomach but they were there, deep in his heart. He never imagined that he'd be in this deep, that life would lead him to a girl who argued so passionately, who was a force to be reckoned with, who was an utter lioness when you needed to be.

He started to think of all the nights he spent without you. Before you came into his life like the disruptive force that you were and turned everything upside down. He couldn't believe that there were several nights he spent feeling completely and utterly alone, and not knowing you were out there somewhere. And how there were also nights where you were unattainable in the most painful way. In his reach, but never within his grasp.

And how he'd never, ever go back to that point.

Your eyes cracked open and you squinted tiredly up at him. "Michael? What are you doing?" you asked. You were quick to realize that he was watching you. "That's creepy."

Michael chuckled in what sounded like embarrassment and he leaned away from you. "I'm sorry," he said in a whisper.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" you asked groggily.

"I can't sleep," Michael admitted in a small voice.

"Oh," you answered. You didn't have to ask, you already knew what was on his mind. He was still grieving. You were, too. There was more to it than that but Michael let you assume it was the only thing. "Okay. Come here," you told him.

He moved closer, but it was with an uncertainty, almost cautious. You placed your hands on his shoulders and brought him closer on your own.

He didn't deserve you and he knew, but then he was on top of you, your back against the mattress, your lips parted just the slightest bit. And you looked so inviting that something inside of him loosened until it felt relaxed and slack. There was no rush, here. You looked up at him with a warmth in your eyes and a flush upon your cheeks and he was charmed by you. He always was. He always would be.

And when he kissed you, with a deep slowness, intent on exploring every centimeter of you, every patch of skin you would bare to him.

He couldn't imagine kissing anyone else.

You could tie his tongue into knots with just your mouth. You could tie him into knots with a look. It wouldn't even be deliberate, he knew, and that was the worst power of all that you had over him. Any word, any touch: he was desperate for you, a man depraved, wanting for your warmth and your affection. He wanted to be loved so deeply that he was sick of it, loved so wholeheartedly that he would never know how it felt to be unloved. And you were everything good he knew his blood-speckled hands should not touch. Even now, he imagined you were regretful.

But you weren't. You opened your mouth, made an intoxicating noise against him as your fingers looped into his hair.

You didn't mean to bring him to the brink of madness, but you did. The madness for touch. For warmth. For your love.

He wanted to understand you, understand the depths of your soul, your core. He ached for you. He wanted you. He had always wanted you.

So he kissed you, deeply, calculating. Almost, in a way, lazy. Until suddenly, with the swiftness of a bolt of lightning, it wasn't. Suddenly, you were too much and what he had of you wasn't enough. His hands slid down over your shoulders and he wanted to feel your pulse and trace your teeth and press you close enough to feel you breathing against him. He wanted you skin to skin. He wanted your soul bared to him, wanted to touch it, hold it, hold you, in his palms and never let you go. It was you who stayed, stays, it was you who whispered his name against his lips.

He whispered your own back as though it was sacred. Because it was. Because you were. Your mouth and your hands and everything that you were. You arched against him, pulling away for the barest moment and panted into the suddenly too-hot air of the room, but he was already moving to kiss your jaw. He felt your skin against his lips and he wanted to kiss you everywhere. Anywhere you would let him. He thought he could palm you anywhere and never get enough of you. He breathed you in, your scent, until all he exhaled was you, carrying the scraps of your name as though a chant or a hymn.

You tangled your hand with his hair and whispered his name, reverent, wanting, and who was he to deny you when you bared your throat and his mouth was so hungry for you, so needy for your taste? Your skin was addicting, you were addicting, your very existence made him feel as though he was taking his first breaths of air after suffocation. And he wanted to drown in you and you in him.

He would never tire of moments like these, of being mouth to throat with you, of kissing you, of wanting to kiss you everywhere. He has always found himself wanting to wrap himself up in you and let you do everything you wanted and tell him just what you wanted him to do. He loved hearing your gasps of pleasure echoing in the room you two shared, bringing each of his nerve endings alive until he was only a hard knot of muscle and ache pressed into you, each cell yearning.

Because you were, was, would always be home. The lighthouse beckoning him like a beacon from a shore. You were the shore. You were the ocean, too. He could feel himself unraveling and he wondered if that was just the kind of kiss you had, the kind that could unwind him and make him come apart, only for you to bring him back together again how you wanted. Because he wanted to be what you wanted. Wanted to be the kind of man you were desperate to kiss, the kind of man you would press your hips against and tell him you wanted him, too.

His heartbeat slammed in his chest in time to yours as he kissed you, teeth and tongue and a desperate moan you let loose into his mouth. He was smitten to the point of awe. You who could unwind him and chose to help him come together, instead.

You were the closest thing he had ever gotten to the definition of holy. And he didn't deserve you. And he knew. And he kissed you silly, wanted to spoil you with touch, and when he caressed you with fingertips that have only known destruction, he was a man at the foot of a church, begging for forgiveness. He was breathing against your neck as you moved your hips against him, clothed, still, but the friction was enough to send shudders down his body.

And he knew he didn't deserve you. Didn't deserve this. Never has and never will and doesn't.

But you kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, still.

You allowed him to bring you onto his lap and he breathed in the scent of your hair. He adjusted slightly so you were more comfortable, and you smiled at him before you pulled away slightly and started to pepper his face with kisses while your hands dipped down to his hips, and you brushed your lips over his. The tentative motion was matched easily, and he leaned into you, explicit permission for you to kiss him more deeply. The low groan he made in the back of his throat got louder when you rubbed his thighs, nipping at his upper lip and taking it into your mouth. He brought one hand to your hair and the other between your shoulder blades, pressing you toward him.

Michael felt your smile against his mouth just before you pulled away from him, kissing over his cheek and across his jaw, leaving a tingling feeling everywhere you set your lips. As you reached his throat, he tipped his head back, and you left an open mouth kiss over his Adam's apple, feeling him swallow as one of his hands trailed downward, cupping your ass as he ground against you, letting you feel his arousal.

Slowly, your lips made their way to his ear, licking at the shell before you nuzzled him, swiveling your hips so you were rubbing against his erection, making him gasp quietly. Your fingers crept up his side before curving your palm over his shoulder and to the back of his neck, grasping his hair. Gently, you kissed his ear, grinding down against him once more as you whispered, "Let me make it better."

He sucked in another harsh breath, opening his eyes to look at you as you pulled away and you smiled at him, the hand on his hip rubbing soothing circles into his flesh. Your lips stretched farther as your smile deepened, and you leaned forward to kiss his nose, making his own mouth twitch upward. You played with his hair between your fingers, seated in his lap and feeling the hard line of his length against your thigh. He cupped the back of your neck and kissed beneath your jaw. You hummed playfully, letting your head fall back.

"Mmmm," he replied, finding your pulse point and tenderly kissing it.

Michael only sucked at your neck, sure to produce a darkened mark, leaving you to let loose a small, breathy "Ah," as he smirked. He only pulled away when you had started grinding down on his lap, and he nipped at you playfully. You bit your lip as Michael pressed burning, open mouthed kisses down to your collar bones, kissing across them and nipping delicately, and he could practically feel the shiver of pleasure that coursed through you.

He slipped his hands under your night gown and pulled the material over your head, letting it drop to the ground by your bed. You were quick to remove the dark blue shirt he was wearing and then you made a move to unbutton his pants, but you were having some trouble removing them given your position so he helped you and slid them off along with his underwear. Michael's lips then trailed to your sternum, right atop your heart, and he gently pressed his lips to the spot, the overwhelming tenderness with how he was touching you made your heart swell. His eyelashes tickled over your skin as he pressed his cheek atop your left breast, his touch practically worshiping as his hands trailed over your back, stroking your spine and massaging your skin.

You squirmed atop him, bringing yourself backwards slightly, letting his hardness press to your stomach. When you looked down, taking in his erection, a flush spread across your cheeks. Michael splayed his palm between your shoulders blades and pushed you forward once more so he could kiss over the other side of your neck, leaving you to tangle your fingers in his hair as he left a wicked burning sensation everywhere his lips touched your skin. He bit at your earlobe, worrying the flesh between his teeth. You giggled, though it was broken up by your wanting, breathy noises.

"Just stay with me," you told him, relaxing backward in his hold and bringing your legs around him, running your hands through his hair as he located every spot on your neck and shoulders that made you shiver and shake.

A soft sound vibrated from Michael's throat in response and you swallowed hard when he brought his hands to your hips, grinding against you and connecting your mouths, his tongue sliding over the cushion of your lower lip. You parted your lips for him, tilting your head and deepening the kiss, even as he wrapped an arm around you, settling his palm over your rib cage, his other hand massaged your hip, gently running over your ass. You felt too warm, gasping when he pressed his fingers over a spot that had you jolting, jumping in his lap and rubbing over his erection.

The groan he gave off was intoxicating, and you could feel his precum slicking your skin, making the rub you gave him with your stomach all the more sensual. His tongue came to twine with your own, his hands exploring your body in even more depth than the night before, and you gently pursed your lips and sucked, one of your hands coming between you two, intent on touching him, making him feel as good as he was making you feel.

But he pulled away as your fingers gently brushed over his flexing stomach, the hand that had been roving over your side grasping your wrist, instead, and you caught his strained, particularly dark smirk before he maneuvered you two, laying you flat on your back with no warning at all. You gasped, your free arm flying around his neck as the world went dizzy for a moment. On your back, your head hung off the mattress, exposing your neck even more, and this time, Michael settled one knee between your legs, grinding against you slightly, inspiring a warm moan as he licked your throat.

"None of that," he said, and the way he uttered your name made you feel electric, his teeth coming to scrape over your sensitive skin as he palmed at your breasts, cupping them, letting the weight settle in his hands. You arched up to his touch as he kissed behind your ear, a whimper coming from deep in your throat. "This is about you."

As he tenderly caressed you, he brought the fingers of one hand down your flexing stomach, his index finger extending as he barely touched you, drawing a line down your torso. You breathed in harshly, swallowing hard as his left hand continued lightly stroking your breast, cataloguing your breath.

Slowly, teasing you entirely, he moved his knee away so he could press two fingers between your thighs, smirking when he took note of how wet you were. You strained, flexing your hips to try to get more friction as he traced the underside of your breast, feeling you quiver beneath him. He moved away from your neck, taking notice of how many love bites he'd left you. The marks were stark against your skin, and he took a long moment to glance over you. Your head was tipped back, your face flushed, partially from the position, but mostly from his ministrations, your lips swollen and shining and well-bitten.

The sight of it made him all the more aware of the position you two were in. He saw you as this perfect, beautiful woman, so tender and pliant to his touch, shivering and sopping beneath him, grinding against his fingers. You were a sight. Your shoulders shook, your collarbones covered in red marks from his mouth, and your ample breasts were heaving, his fingers coming out to play with a hardened nipple, making you whimper once more. His gaze continued trailing down, taking in your flexing stomach, the flush over your thighs.

He wanted to kiss them.

"You're so pretty like this," he told you, feeling you soak his fingers even through the fabric of your underwear, and you fluttered your eyes shut, breathing hard as you tried to rut against his hand. He leaned over you once more, biting down on your earlobe. He heard you gasp, your hips wildly flying off the bed as you shuddered, thrown entirely off kilter just as he moved his head down, kissing your nipple in a hot mist of his breath. You shook as he looked up at you, displeased that you still had your eyes shut.

He called your name, as he took his hand from between your thighs away, and you whined, connecting your gazes.

"I want you so bad. Please don't tease me," you demanded, a hand coming to his jaw and caressing.

And his grin was wicked as he leaned into your touch, all the while bringing his fingers to his mouth. In the pale moonlight, you could see how they were glistening even though he only pressed them to you through your underwear, and you swallowed hard when he brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them and tasting you.

Your fingertips dug into his cheek, slightly, as he licked his fingers, his tongue slicking them even more. As his grin widened, you arched up, yearning for his touch, pushing your breast further into his hand so he could massage your skin, feeling your writhing body, your hips twisting and your chest heaving. Your breasts had swelled with the intense touching, your nipples hard and flushed, and you moaned softly as he bowed his head and blew on your skin, catching the wet spots he'd previously left and making you shiver.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you gently whispered his name, and he smiled as you did, nuzzling your neck and biting down softly. Your hold on his blonde locks tightened, and he molded his hard body over you, pushing your hips together so he could hold you down more easily. Slowly, as he sucked on your neck, he trailed his touch on your breasts inward, spiraling toward your sensitive nipple.

He felt your arch toward him, your entire body shaking as he tapped on it, feeling you jolt, your chant of his name faltering, and he continued suckling at the bite he'd left on your neck, rocking his hips against yours.

"Michael! Aah!"

He smirked, biting down on your skin once more, and your speech had dissolved, your body speaking for you, instead. Lightly, he traced your areola, allowing his fingernail to barely brush over your flesh, and you strained against him harder as a result, your eyes closed tightly as your breathing got harder, deeper, carrying scraps of his name. He continued tracing around your nipple, the motions maddeningly slow, and you ground your hips against him, aligning yourself against his erection and trying to stimulate yourself through your panties.

Immediately, he arched away, moving his hands off of you, but you let loose a high whine, boxing his head in with your arms and holding him close to you, whimpering.

"Don't stop," you begged, your voice harsh and pleading, high and breathy. "You're making me feel so good. Please don't stop."

And he nuzzled against your jaw, complying with your demands. He felt the spike of pleasure that went through your body, and he was certain that your panties had been completely soaked through.

"Keep-mmm-keep going," you cut yourself off with another hum, arching almost painfully off the bed, your legs spread wide, your fingers looping his hair and tugging him toward you.

"Tell me how it feels," he whispered, kissing your jaw before he maneuvered atop you, relinquishing one hand to hold your head up, looking into your eyes as he cupped your other breast. You fluttered your eyes open, your entire face warm and flushed, bringing your lip between your teeth.

"Michael..."

"Tell me," he commanded once more, gently kissing over your cheeks, missing your lips on purpose and sucking at your jaw.

"So good," you panted out, maintaining eye contact with him as his fingers kneaded at your flesh. "It feels s-so good. My- my whole body is tingling."

He kissed you as a reward, swallowing your soft moan as he thumbed your nipple, and you bucked harshly, unable to help it. The pleasure yawned in you, your body electric and your thighs trembling.

Michael's hands were strong as he shifted his hold so he could roll your nipple between his fingers, pinching and twisting almost immediately. You broke away from his mouth with another soft, pleased sound, throwing your head back as he latched onto your pulse, licking and sucking at the skin of your neck, adding one more mark to the many you already had, courtesy of him.

You arched up higher, your legs splayed wide open, and he gently trailed his lips downward, listening to your panting, feeling you shiver. Slowly, ever so slowly, he released his hold on the back of your head, letting it fall back once more, and you moaned as he breathed hot hair between your breasts, over your rib cage, your stomach, and to your thighs. You spread your legs even wider for him, so wanting for his touch, and he smiled. You were so good, his angel. You were so ready. Carefully, he stripped you off your panties, the fabric clinging slightly to your skin due to your wetness, but soon being tossed to the side, off to a corner of your room.

Seeing you sent a spark of arousal through him, hard and swift, yawning inside of him as it always did, and he kissed over your inner thighs, drinking in the sight. With one hand still caressing your breast and the other resting atop your hip, he finally gave into the temptation of feeling your slickness. His hand crept over your hip bone before he extended a finger and brought it between your lips, watching you buck.

"You're practically dripping," he breathed out, and you whimpered.

"Want you. So bad. So bad."

"Do you?" he asked, knowing full well that you did, looking up at you. He knew how eager and ready your body was for him, asking for his touch, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"Y-Yes!"

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

Your breath hitched at the question, a soft groan accompanying the nod you gave that he could barely see. "Yes," you said, your voice tipping higher. "Yes, please?"

He hummed as though still unsure. "How bad do you want me to?"

You practically sobbed, his finger stroking you maddeningly slow. Truthfully, he never thought you'd be one for begging, or teasing, but he could feel how the actions brought you such immense pleasure, as they always did. And, really, who was he to deny you when he loved teasing you and hearing you beg just as much as you loved it?

"I w-want you so bad. Please? Oh, Michael, please?"

"How bad? Tell me exactly how bad you want it," he told you, and he couldn't stop smirking. You so rarely unfurled. You were sturdy and powerful and sharp-tongued. But here. Oh, here, with him, with his finger caressing your clit with the ghost of a touch, with his hand on your breasts, you could unwind so completely, tell him exactly how desperate you were to shatter.

He was always so amazed at how much just talking to him, hearing him command you, made you slicken. The glide between your lips was effortless, and if anything, you gushed as he looked up at you, sucking on your inner thigh, leaving hickies everywhere his lips touched you. You had brought yourself up on your elbows, your torso trembling, so you could look at him.

"Mmm- I'm gonna die if you don't."

"That bad, hm?" he asked, the question entirely rhetorical, but you answered him, anyway, surrendering to his control.

"Ye-yeah. Yeah, so bad."

"Well," he continued, the hypnotic motion of his stroking getting slightly faster, much to your delight. "If that's the case."

The ache he had ignited between your legs must have been unbearable for you, just as it was for him. He couldn't ignore how your submission made his whole body tremble, so absolutely, maddeningly aroused, but he said it was about you, and he intended to keep it that way. Slowly, all too slowly, the finger that was between your lips, the one he'd slicked up so thoroughly with your dampness, came to your entrance, and he listened to you gasp out, "Yes!" and you fell back against the mattress, before he slid it into you.

He grinned at your affirmation, moving in and out of you with ease, pressing over the front of your walls. Your panting was harsh and loud and so beautiful. You were so beautiful to him, especially like this, when you were so wanting, so wet.

"Is this what you want?" he asked you, biting down gently on your hip bones and the skin of your stomach, not allowing himself the pleasure of tasting you.

"Y-yes. Yes, yes, yes," you chanted, your hands fisting the sheets, your body meeting every motion. He smiled, loving that he was making you feel so good.

"Do you want more?"

The moan that tumbled out of you was jagged, your belly flexing. "Oh yes. Yes. Please?"

And because he was never one to deny you, for too long, anyway, he slicked up a second finger before he moved that one into you, as well, watching as you hitched your legs up higher, crossing them up in the air at the ankle, allowing him to kiss the undersides of your thighs instead of just the inside, and he peppered your skin, so warm and responsive, with more kisses, even as you trembled.

It was when he breathed warm air between your thighs that you finally dropped your legs to his shoulders, giving them a rest, shivering in anticipation, and he watched his fingers slide in and out of you, how you accepted them inside of you effortlessly, your entrance swollen and wanting and flushed.

Truthfully, this was his favorite part, watching you, making you feel so good. The involuntary actions as you so greedily took him, accepted everything he would give, asking for him to bring you to climax. Your folds were glistening, just begging for his mouth, but he wanted to watch you take him for just a moment longer. He curled his fingers, pressing over your front walls as he listened to you gasp. You were squirming unrelentingly as he observed you, as he looked at how you gushed small spurts of liquid whenever he pressed just so against what had to be your sweet spot.

You were a shaking, shuddering mess. You were doing little more than babbling, now, begging him to eat you out, his name nothing but fragments breaking against your teeth as he coaxed you, bringing you to bliss. Your muscles tensed, and he felt you clench over his fingers, pulsing hard.

You were gorgeous like this, and he spared an instant to look up at you, watching you rear up, slightly, your hips wiggling hard as you panted. The smooth, curved line of your body went rigid, and he mercilessly stimulated you, listening to you practically weep.

He rested his head against your thigh, watching as you squirted, hearing you whimper and moan, and he bit his lip. It was so erotic, and incredibly sinful, too. Here, in front of him, you had been rendered utterly speechless, left to do little more than shudder in his grasp.

He loved bringing you to that point, where you could say barely anything, just shuddering, cut off noises of absolute ecstasy, and when his fingers didn't let up, thrusting swiftly into you and curling in the perfect way, he could have came just from the sound you made alone.

But he wanted to taste you, looking up at you, watching you unfurl. And when he let himself, the anticipation having built and built in him, he moaned at the feeling, drowned out by your keen. He pressed his lips against your folds, giving long, slow, deliberate licks over your dripping entrance, taking his fingers out for short, swift moments as his tongue laved over the opening, before he would thrust them back in, leaving you sobbing.

His nose nuzzled you, his lips caressing your clit, sucking softly and consistently, interspersed with circling his tongue around you. He could feel your pulse from there, your very core in his mouth, and your hands found his hair as you twitched, your body jerking from the overstimulation.

Your high moans had gotten shorter, broken up by your heavy breathing, fast, staccato "Ah!"s of pleasure, and he thought it was almost a shame that you were approaching your second orgasm so soon. He could spend days between your legs, tasting you, licking you clean as you gushed and dripped, as he brought you to bliss over and over again.

He doubted you'd mind, but you were so sensitive already, your heart pounding hard, the pleasure engulfing you as he felt you tighten around the base of his fingers, both of them brought in to the knuckle before you completely shattered around him, sobbing his name and telling him how good it felt as he gently sucked on your lips, kissing your lips and coaxing you through your second orgasm.

You were whimpering by the time he had slowly kissed back up your cheek, and the hand that had been caressing your breast came around you, worming beneath your back and the mattress, adjusting you so that your head wasn't tipped over the edge of the bed, anymore.

You threw your arms around him, though you felt mostly boneless, nothing but nerve endings and pleasure, shuddering in his grasp as he held you. Only when your hard pulsing had eased to gentle flutters did he take his fingers out of you, kissing over your nose and cheeks and brushing over your mouth as you breathed tatters of his name.

You caught your breath with a deeply satisfied sigh, your smile content and lazy, basking in his affections. You bumped your noses together, kissing his cupid's bow as he grinned at you, holding you as you relaxed. You only hummed, still smiling as you curled in close to him.

However, when you felt the hard line of him against your stomach once more, your brows furrowed, and you looked down, taking in how flushed he was, how he was dripping precum. You looked back at his face.

"It doesn't have to be all about me, you know," you said, pouting slightly, running your fingers through his hair.

"Mmmm," he replied, leaning into your touch like a cat, seemingly content just to be in your embrace, your bodies warm and thrumming against one another.

Your pout deepened. "Michael. You didn't get anything."

He kissed beneath your ear, softly stroking your side, your legs tangled together. "I got plenty," he remarked, recalling the sight of watching you cum, twice.

"But I want to make you feel good," you said, cupping the back of his neck, your thumb coming to stroke over his jaw. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

"You do," he assured, curling up to you.

"Do, as in general. Not did, as in just now."

Michael nuzzled at you, the aftercare he bestowed upon you often the most lavishing part of your relationship. "You don't have to."

"But I want to," you replied, curling your fingers over his shoulders and pushing him back slightly. You batted your eyelashes at him, kissing his nose, so affectionate. "Can I?"

The smirk that curled over his face was lazy and endearing. "You can do whatever you'd like with me."

"Mmmm, you might regret that," you joked. "I could tease you like you tease me. Not so fun when you're the one being edged, hm?"

He laughed, looping one of your soft strands around his finger. "I'd have rubbed off on you, then."

"In more ways than one."

"Ha."

You smiled, kissing his jaw and wrapping a leg around him before he felt the world spin and you brought him to his back. His eyebrows went up, your grin becoming just the slightest hint more mischievous.

"Let me do something for you," you said, your eyelids drooping slightly as you bit at your lip, watching him swallow.

You gave him one more soft, gentle smile before you kissed his throat, intent on leaving him in as many marks as he'd left you. His hips flexed and he swallowed hard, bringing his hand to the top of your head to encourage you. And it was whenever you found the spots, as you always did, that had him groaning, quiet and low, rumbling his chest, that you were sure you were doing something right.

You brought your hands to his hips, warm and inviting, and he arched from the mattress as you kissed your way down his chest. His body was already swelling, thrumming and happy and alive so turned on, and you were focused on making your way to where he most wanted you.

Truthfully, you didn't like to tease him. You wanted to give him what he wanted. You wanted to see him break open, gasping your name. So when you got to his hips, the V cut in so perfectly, you only drummed your fingers over his side before you glanced up at him, smiling, kissing his stomach, watching the way his eyes fogged.

Michael hummed deeply, bringing a clumsy hand to the top of your head, moving your hair out of your face. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest as he looked at you, tenderly looping the strands behind your ears so it wasn't in your way.

Michael was showing you affection in careful, swift caresses, in absentminded comforts, and it made you feel warm inside, safe. You smiled, the affection you felt toward him almost overwhelming.

"I'm glad you're here with me," you told him, resting your cheek against his hip bone for a moment, nuzzling.

He whispered your name and in it, you could feel, hear, everything he didn't say. "You're wonderful," and "Darling," and "Thank you," and "I'm glad you're here with me too," and everything that was unspoken between you two as he cupped your cheek. You brought one of your hands off of his hips, placing your hand atop his and turning your head slightly to kiss his palm, your fingers settling into the spaces his fingers left.

You gave one more kiss to his palm before you moved back, just enough to lower yourself down so you were facing his hardness, and you let go of your hold on his hand so you could grasp him. You heard him groan, his hand falling from your cheek and down to your shoulder, stroking over you in encouragement.

Slowly, you kissed the underside of his cock, holding him at the base as you maintained eye contact with him, and he groaned, breathy and hot while you breathed hot hair onto his sensitive skin. It was hard not to notice the effect your own body had to the actions, as well, since you were certain you were flushed from throat to knees, heated and turned on.

As you opened your mouth into a little o shape, and then a rather big o shape, you curled your lips over your teeth, ever aware of the fact that you had to stretch your mouth wide just to fit him inside. His fingers carded through your hair and you relaxed slightly, fluttering your eyes closed and slowly taking him in, inch by inch.

You didn't rush. You gave yourself time to adjust and you could feel how he had tensed up, likely desperate not to thrust down your throat and end the experience on a less than savory note. You slowly stroked his thigh with one hand, the other squeezing him gently at the base. Michael's choked cry when you sucked on the head was intoxicating, and you could almost feel yourself gush.

It was only when you focused and noticed that you'd barely taken a few inches of him inside of your mouth that you realized that you would have to think of something else. Michael was perfectly fine with what you were doing right that moment, if his groans and tender caresses were anything to go by, but you wanted to give him more. It was just that the natural curve of him was too strong. It was more than appreciated when he was in you in a different way, when you were slick between the thighs and he was deep in you, finding the sweet spot inside of you. But this position was proving to be inconvenient.

You moved him out of you, sucking at the head for only a moment and hearing him choke off a whine. You kissed at the base of him, your nose gently bumping at his skin, before you kissed back over his stomach, your gaze on him holding him captivated.

"Michael?" you started, tracing your nail down his side. "Do you want some... visual stimulation?" you asked, and he only swallowed hard, once more.

"Mhmm," was all he answered you with, his expression dazed, and you grinned, crawling over him, placing both hands onto his chest and pressing him into the mattress. You felt his hand rove down from your shoulder, curling over your spine until he cupped your ass, grinding against you, still so wanting for stimulation.

You smiled at him, setting a kiss atop where his heart was, feeling his thumbs rub soothing circles against your skin, leaving you humming and arching.

"I'm gonna turn around," you told him, and you looked into his eyes, practically black from how dilated his pupils were. "Is that okay?"

"Mhmhmm," he answered, as you nuzzled beneath his jaw, tenderly kissing his pulse-point before you pulled away.

It didn't take much maneuvering at all, really. Within no time, you had your legs on either side of him, but your back was to his face, this time. You arched and bent over him, scooting backward and waving your ass in the air, right in front of his face. His groan was louder this time, the sound humming out of him and rumbling his chest slightly, making you giggle. You gently tapped the inside of his thigh so he wouldn't jolt when you brought your lips to his hips, kissing and sucking at his skin, working him up.

Looking at him, again, you had to bite your lip at how hard and flushed he was. His cock bobbed in front of you, wet with precum that dripped out of him and beaded down the underside where you could see his vein throbbing.

You grasped him once more, your hand looking particularly minuscule in comparison before you bowed your head and shimmied backward to get more comfortable, your tongue coming out to lick at the ridge. You heard him gasp and you kissed his tip, leaving a line of kisses over his entire shaft before you opened your mouth and circled the head with your tongue.

You knew you were doing a good job when you felt him shift beneath you, and you finally engulfed the head of his cock, sinking him into your mouth with considerably more ease than the last position. From this one, he was curved in the same way your throat was, and you tried to relax your jaw further, careful about hurting him.

You almost jumped when you felt his hands on your back, massaging your skin, and you moaned lowly at how the pads of his fingers dug in just slightly. Michael had soft, warm hands and he knew just where to touch you to make you turn to mush. You immediately felt your body sink down. The quick, shallow intakes of air through your nose morphed into slow, deep breathing, instead, and you found that you had far less trouble taking more of him into you. You bobbed your head back and forth, taking more of him in every time, your eyes clouding at the fact that you were swallowing him down so far.

You curled your spine, raising your ass into the air even more, embarrassingly wet and flushed. You cupped his balls with the gentlest touch, feeling yourself warm even further, and Michael must not have expected it because his hips flew up wildly, eyes likely widened and mouth popped into an o of surprise.

You tried to pull away, instinctively, but his hands were still on your back, partially holding you down, and you could only let loose a choked sound. Yet, there was something about the restrain, about being unable to pull away, that made the ache between your legs intensify, though you tensed slightly at the motion. You moaned, the noise choked off because of how far down your throat was, certain that Michael had an explicit view of just how much doing this for him had turned you on, and you felt his fingers soothe down your spine before he trailed his hands down to the plush of your ass once more, cupping both cheeks.

You didn't mean to squirm, spreading your legs farther as you slowly popped him out of your mouth, looking down at how wet you'd gotten his cock, and you bit your lips at the sight before you licked down his shaft, wanting to incorporate your hand, making sure to slick him from base to tip. Michael arched off the bed, squeezing your backside and kneading the flesh, his voice getting deeper as you began to pump him before you licked up to the tip and sucked it into your mouth once more. You swiveled your hips around, absolutely aching.

With one hand pumping him, twisting around gently to stimulate what of him you couldn't take in your mouth and the other cupping his balls, making sure to be gentle, you couldn't even reach down between your legs and relieve the near painful arousal you had been brought to. Michael hummed deep in his throat, still kneading your ass.

You felt a spark of pleasure run down your spine when Michael managed to scrape together a breathy, "Fuck, you're sopping," and you moaned lowly, taking him deeper into your throat, practically half of his length engulfed in you. Were your mouth free, you knew you'd be whimpering back at him, and your entire body cried out for some sort of release to the mounting tension you felt coiling in your stomach again. Likely, the two orgasms you had prior had made it so much easier to wind you up. It only got worse when you heard him groan harshly, muttering out your name, and you wanted so desperately to bring your thighs together and rub to alleviate the ache. He was telling you that you felt so good, that he wanted to taste you, again.

Fuck, he couldn't do that to you, tell you that he wanted to bury his face between your thighs and lick you clean once more. It made you remember that he already had. Had done so until you'd climaxed on his tongue, had moaned into you, so aroused just from bringing you pleasure. You were barely keeping your head on straight as it was. When you felt one of his hands leave your ass, trailing downward, you couldn't help but make a painfully eager noise, no doubt intensifying his pleasure, as well. Not only from the vibrations of your throat as you brought him deeper and deeper into you, but also just knowing how much he was affecting you.

You felt him trail a finger between your lips, starting at your drenched opening, already wet from what he'd done to you prior, and only getting wetter, before slowly moving up to your clit. It felt so good that you strained to lean into his touch, rutting against his hand, asking for sweet mercy. Your entire body screamed yes when he trailed back to where you were dripping before he brought a finger back inside you, catching the swollen spot in the front of your walls. The moan you gave off was loud, even being completely muffled by his cock in your throat. You had relaxed to the point where you had lowered your head down considerably, aided by the natural curve of him. You had barely even noticed the gentle rocking he'd started into you as you bobbed your head up and down, sloppily sucking on the head whenever you managed to move him out far enough before taking him in a slick slide deep into you. And now, he was in you in two places, moving his finger and his cock in and out of you.

Your body was ceaselessly meeting each of his motions, but he could tell you wanted more, and Michael was too damn lost in his own pleasure to play his teasing act, sliding a second finger into you, thrusting them roughly and mercilessly tapping them over your sweet spot. You felt his thumb come over your clit, rubbing harsh, swift circles against it, and your thighs and calves twitched.

Michael was palming your ass even more, now, and you had taken him in so far that there was no room for your hand to pump him, anymore. Instead, your lips met your fist and you could only twist it around at the base of him, your other hand palming his balls, bringing the pad of your thumb to the sensitive skin right behind them and rubbing. He had given up any semblance of control, now, and you barely even had to bob your head, anymore. Instead, he was thrusting down your throat, his speech turned to a babble of half-cut off, stuttered sweet nothings you could barely make out and your name, chanted so consistently that, after a moment, it was the only thing he could say.

You couldn't help but grind against his hand, viciously thrusting your body down on him, but it wasn't enough, and he knew it, and when he said your name, again, spoken so low and ragged that you barely had it in you to keep your legs spread, you felt his hand leave the plush of your ass to grab your hair, instead. It was all the warning you got before he pulled his fingers out of you and the entirety of you wailed out in frustration. You wanted to tell him to keep going, but almost the entirety of his length was down your throat, or rather, it was, before he pulled on your hair and moved himself a few inches out of you.

"S-stop, stop," he managed to gasp out, and you lifted your head with a gasp, breathing hard through your nose.

"Michael?" you asked, your voice hoarse before you felt him move you, wrapping an arm around your waist and lifting you up as he sat up. His mouth came to your shoulder immediately, kissing across until he got to your neck, biting down and sucking hard as he brought his other hand back to your sopping sex and stroked you once more, leaving you to buck.

"I want to take you," he muttered, repeating the phrases over and over as he left a trail of hickies up to your jaw, and you cried out as you grasped his arm for leverage, the other reaching down and under you to grasp his cock.

You whimpered, tossing your head back and over his shoulder. "Yes. Yes, please. Oh yes, please," you babbled, shifting from your spot on top of him as your eyes closed once more and you settled more comfortably on your knees, lifting yourself and pressing him against your opening, waiting until he hummed out an affirmation before you lowered yourself down. You two came together in one, seamless slide, and he kissed over your jaw, clumsily placing his lips over your chin before he connected your mouths, the cushion of your pout still wet.

Almost frantically, he rubbed you, bouncing you atop him, and you went boneless in his grasp, letting him thrust and grind into you as you reached up to fist his hair, your chest straining forward as he moved his arm from around your waist so he could cup one breast and then the other, rolling your nipples between his fingers.

You pulled away from the kiss with a harsh cry, throwing your head back once more and burying your face against the crook of his neck and shoulder. You left soft but feverish kisses all over his neck and the underside of his jaw, peppering them between your praises. "Fuck, you- feel so- oh fuck- right there, so good, you're so- so good- fuck- M-Michael!"

But as amazing as you felt, he wanted to look at your face, and he lifted you off of him without warning, hearing you practically sob in frustration before he moved away from under you and let you fall to the mattress, only taking the barest of moments to settle between your legs and grasp himself so he could slide back into you. You wailed at the new position, wrapping your legs around him and grabbing his hair for leverage, your moan pitching up when he resumed the pace he had, prior, grinding and rolling his hips.

This time, facing you, the curve of his cock ran over the front of your walls effortlessly, and he felt your thighs spasm around him as you lifted your knees higher on his torso, opening yourself to him, your head tossing back and forth. He brought one hand back down to rub you as the other cupped your cheek, directing your gaze back to him.

"Eyes on me," he choked out, and your eyes locked onto him, heavily-lidded and glossy. He desperately moved in you and you met his thrusts with equal fervor.

"You're mine," Michael whispered, and you moaned out, your lips popped open, darkened and swollen from the kissing and all too inviting for him to resist. The image of you glancing up at him, lips stretched around his cock assaulted his mind and he almost threw his head back, nearly finishing right then and there. One of your hands left his hair to grab his shoulder, your nails digging in before you dragged them down his back, just trying to find something to ground you as you felt your orgasm looming, huge and threatening to rob you of all sense. And the pain of your nails brought a pinprick of clarity, his entire body electric. He bowed his head to kiss you in between his uttering of your name, and you replied with a flurry of near nonsense.

You didn't know how he was still threading sentences together; you had long since been able to say anything more than his name. But you called out a broken "Harder!" biting at his lip, and he lengthened his thrusts, the hand that had been cupping your cheek coming to the headboard as he mustered all his energy and gave you what you wanted. You threw your head back for a moment before you managed to open your eyes and connect your gazes once more, and he felt you throb around him as you clutched him to you, staring into his eyes.

"O-Oh Michael, f-fuck, please!" you managed to spill out, and your breasts bounced with each thrust, your heart swelling in your chest as his mere touch sparked electricity beneath your skin.

He brought himself deep into you, curling his body over yours, wanting to be skin to skin everywhere, engulfing each other. He downright whimpered when he felt you clench, barely holding on to his sense of self as he viciously thrust into you, rubbing you hard even though his wrist was aching. Barely thinking, he gently pinched your clit, listening in to you keen, your pleas all blending together into one final call of his name, his only warning before you jerked in his grasp and he felt you gush, squirting over his hips and thighs as you came with a sobbing cry.

He felt your pleasure spark through him until what he was feeling and what you were feeling were the same, the same pleasure, the same overwhelming adoration, and then he was following you, calling your name so loudly you could probably feel the vibrations of it shudder through you. He turned his head, trying to find your mouth, bumping your noses before he kissed you, hard. The hand that was playing with your breasts, prior, reached up to cup the back of your head, his fingers trailing through your hair as he shivered, holding you close as you both worked through your orgasms.

His arms were like steel, clutching you to him so tightly it was like he was trying to mold your bodies to each other, everything almost overwhelmingly bright as you twined together in every way. You were still gasping when he managed to find some kind of clarity, his head still mostly dazed as he choked on the very air, his knees shaking with the effort of keeping himself from collapsing atop you.

He did, however, let his forehead settle over your shoulder, pressing a kiss to the skin, hunching so he could leave gentle, loving kisses over the tops of your breasts, your neck, the dip of your collarbones, helping you wind down. When you were completely limp, relaxed entirely, he moved to pull out of you. He shifted so he hovered over you, kissing over your face once more.

You sunk into the comfort of the mattress with Michael, catching your breath. You smiled at him, radiant, the very definition of such. "That was amazing," you told him, nuzzling against his jaw, humming happily.

You carded a hand through his hair and met his kisses. You two stayed like that for a little while but eventually Michael rolled over to his side of the bed, and you two faced one another. And over time, his face grew contemplative. You knew there was something on his mind.

But before you were able to ask, he spoke up first, "What... what are we?"

You gazed back at him earnestly, taking a moment to process the question. Frankly, you didn't know either. You were content with not putting a label on it.

"I... I don't know," you answered.

"I want to know. I want to know what this is. Whatever I bring it up, you don't give a clear answer," Michael told you, his tone was serious and you could tell that he wasn't going to drop it any time soon.

You took another long moment before you replied, your eyes focused intently on his. "We are whatever you want us to be."

"So does that mean we're a thing?" Michael asked, his voice was soft and almost vulnerable.

"If that's what you want," you said with a smile.

"It is. It is what I want," Michael whispered, seeking your hand under the covers.

"Okay," you murmured back, intertwining your fingers with his.

"So we're a thing," Michael said, a smile stretching across his face.

"We're a thing," you repeated.

"You're not going to leave me? Like the others?" Michael asked in a small, vulnerable voice.

"No, I'm not going to leave you," you whispered. "I'm here to stay."

"Come here," Michael said, bringing his other hand to the back of your head and pressing a heated kiss on your lips. You held onto his hand tightly, your fingers locked as you curled up against him and kissed him back.

You wished things could be like this forever.

You wished that nothing could get in the way of moments like these.

But the following day, the Miriam automaton was completed, courtesy of Jeff and Mutt, much to your dismay.


	14. Death and Destruction

The day that Michael went to retrieve the Miriam automaton, he didn't come back. He was gone for several hours, and you were starting to feel overcome with worry. It wasn't like Michael to be away for so long, not without you by his side. You knew he was up to something, something heinous. There were knots in your stomach, twisting and churning, making you feel sick.

You didn't forget his grave promise of what he wanted to do to the witches, he wanted them to pay, to suffer for what they did to Miriam and his fellow brothers. He needed to get his revenge, and you knew it was something that was still weighing heavily on him. You could only distract him for so long. Perhaps you let yourself become too comfortable. You wanted to help Michael, you wanted to believe there was hope for him, but sometimes you wondered if that was even possible. It was very clear that up until now you had been dancing with the Devil at this point. You couldn't physically be by his side at all times, now you were wishing you would have went with him, but he had left early in the morning and woke you to tell you he was leaving, and you simply nodded your head before drifting back to sleep. That was a huge mistake on your part.

You may not have been attending Miss Robichaux's Academy anymore, but they were still your sisters, your coven, they're the ones who supported you through a turbulent time, who guided you and stood by you. You were at a crossroads because of what they did to your mother but at the end of the day she committed a horrific crime and it left you in a impossible situation which was why you had to leave. Though, there wasn't a day that went by that you didn't think about them and you couldn't help but wonder if they thought about you, too.

You couldn't sit still at home anymore. The pacing back and forth and the places your head was going was enough to drive you crazy with anxiety and dread.

You were about to leave the house to head to the Miss Robichaux's Academy when the door swung open and then entered Michael, alongside Miriam, in automaton form. There was a grim expression on his features and he walked in, avoiding your gaze. You exchanged looks with Miriam and her eyes filled with a light when they met yours.

"My sweet, sweet daughter, oh have I missed you," she said, taking a step towards you and caressing your cheek with her hand. Her fingers were cold and it sent a shiver down your spine, making you flinch in response.

"Hi," you said, a look of bewilderment on your face as you stared at her. This wasn't your mother, but she looked just like her, and the scientists who pieced her together did a spectacular job of making her, you were certainly taken aback. You didn't know what you were expecting but you weren't expecting this, their technology was incredibly advanced and for a moment you felt like you were staring back at your mother. It was too much like the real thing that it was scary.

"I'm so glad to be reunited with you, dear, it's been too long," Miriam said, stroking your face once more.

"Yeah, it has," you replied and gave a barely-there nod. This was all starting to become very freaky and creepy, and just plain awkward.

You turned to look at Michael who was standing against the counter in the kitchen with his hands in his face, distress and rage written all over his features.

"What happened? Where were you just now?" you asked, walking over to him. He was still avoiding your gaze, his head was hung low, staring at the ground with a coldness in his blue eyes.

"Michael, answer me," you demanded. You stood still, waiting for a response from him but he didn't say anything. He was completely silent, and you frowned, not wanting to fill in the blanks yourself. You grabbed his hand from his face and held onto it and that was when you got your answer.

A series of horrific images flashed through your vision, and you saw the unspeakable horrors that occurred inside the walls of Miss Robichaux's Academy. You could hear their screams of sheer terror ringing in your ears, of the witches that suffered at the hands of Michael, the bloodshed he left in his wake, their tears and cries for help, you saw it, you saw every horrible, wicked thing he made them endure. You saw the death and anguish of what had become of your coven, of every witch that had been murdered, every witch that was at his mercy.

A new burst of helplessness ran through you. The horrible tugging feeling in the pit of your stomach was intense and unforgiving. Your eyes stung and your sight was blurred by tears, your heart clenched in your tightening chest. You pulled your hand away from his like you had been burned by the mere touch and stared back at him with a look of disgust and horror and anger all in one, and Michael didn't like it, he hated it. It scared him. He had been on the receiving end of your wrath before but this was something else entirely.

Your worst nightmare had come true. This was what he was made for, to bring death and destruction in his path, in this world, there was no saving someone like that. You were a fool to even try.

"Michael," you whispered, and there was no affection or endearment in your tone, not like before, it was dripping with venom and revulsion.

"I had to. I had to make them pay. I didn't have a choice. Cordelia fucked with me and my people. I told you what I was going to do to them. I wanted every last one of them to suffer, to burn," Michael snarled, there was a furious spark in his eyes as he spoke.

You raised your hand and smacked him right across the face, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls. You didn't want to hear another word. His head whipped back to the side and for a long moment he didn't say or do anything. A red mark blossomed upon the cheek you stroke and he soothed it with a hand, finally turning to look at you with a pained grimace on his face. Michael froze, lips parting but no sound escaping. You were not sorry. You wanted to hit him again, and again, and again, mark him permanently so that whenever he looked in a mirror, he would remember. But you were not capable of sustaining such violence against someone you cared for.

Everything had been going so well, too well by your usual standards. You discovered that Michael could be surprisingly soft and thoughtful. He opened up and wasn't afraid to be vulnerable with you in quiet moments as the haze of the rising sun started warming up the landscape around you two. You two would sit on the patio, or lay on the bed, huddled together and Michael's fingers would twist and twirl you hair carefully, almost nervously, as he spoke about distant places and events. Things he had seen and loved and lost long before and the memories he had been holding on to alone.

"You motherfucker! What the fuck is wrong with you? What did you do?! I told you not to do this! I begged you not to!" you screamed at him, the words tearing straight from your throat. You were overcome with rage and your blood was boiling in your veins.

"He did what he had to! Those bitches got what they deserved," Miriam defended Michael, and those scientists got her attitude and personality perfected to a T speaking like that.

"Shut up! You stay out of this!" you interrupted her and whipped your head back to yell at the automaton before facing Michael once more.

Miriam stood back, raising her hands up in front of her in defense, and decided to just watch from the sidelines.

"You knew this was going to happen. I never said I wasn't gonna go through with it. They killed your mother! They killed her! You should want them dead just as much as I do!" Michael hissed through his teeth and you could hear his breathing hitch slightly. First came the slight twitch in his brows, then came the trembling of his lips.

"I didn't want this! I didn't want this endless cycle of death and destruction! You see what you've done right? You've started a fucking war!" you cried out, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes, sticking to your lashes and staining your cheeks, but you didn't break eye contact, glaring at Michael with all the feelings of betrayal you could muster. Raw emotions were spiraling through each of your words and Michael knew better than to cut you off in a moment like this, so he remained quiet and let everything you said seep into his brain.

Rage began to bubble from within your chest. All the hurt, all the fury came out in a fit, one that you didn't even bother acting like you were in control of yourself.

"Why couldn't you let it go? Why? It's not worth it," you stammered, heat rising to your face.

"I didn't get every single one. The witches I wanted to kill the most got away, but I'll find them. I'll find them and I'll kill them too because I'm not stopping until every single one of them have suffered, until there's nothing else, not even their spirits," Michael spat, looking back at you with a cold stare.

You shook your head, blinking back tears that prickled at the corners of your eyes. You glowered, at a loss on how to even start unraveling what Michael had just said. "You're sick. You can't help yourself, can you? You cannot help what you are. A monster. You bring destruction wherever you go. I wanted to help you, Michael, and I thought maybe I could, but now I know that you're a lost cause."

Michael's lips formed into a frown, his jaw clenched, and he thought back to how his grandmother killed herself to be free of him, how his mother tried to murder him, how his father abandoned him, and now he was going to lose you, too.

"Cordelia left your coven to die. She could have done something but she didn't. She didn't even try to save your sisters," Michael started, trying to direct your anger at your Supreme.

You looked back at him with confusion marring your features and your brows furrowed. "Cordelia would never do that. She would do anything for her coven. Don't try to fill my head with lies," you barked. You exhaled, trying to reconcile all the thoughts that had sent you spinning. "I can't even look at you right now," you snapped, tone sharp enough to cut through Michael's heart.

"I'm not lying. She got away and she didn't do anything to help them, and that's your Supreme. The one you had blind faith in," Michael stated coldly.

"You don't know what you're talking about. She wouldn't do that, I know her," you told him, refusing to believe it. "She's going to be the one to stop you. She will. I'm sure she already has a plan in the works. You won't get away with this."

"Well maybe you don't know her as well as you think. She would have probably left you to die, too," Michael pointed out. "But I would never hurt you. I know you were a part of their coven but I've never held that against you," Michael said, clasping one hand over your shoulder while the other reached up and cupped your cheek, running the pad of his thumb over your soft skin, gazing at you with earnest eyes.

"Stop it. Stop trying to get me on your side. You disgust me," you spat cruelly and with a wave of your hand he flew back against the wall, his body slamming against it with a pang, striking you both through your hearts in the heavy silence. Before you knew it, Michael's features changed into one of utter hurt, facial muscles twitching as he tried to hold back what you could see to be tears in his eyes, but you dismissed it and you didn't allow yourself to feel sorry for him. You couldn't. Rage was fueling you, and you knew there was nothing you could do for him. It was in his nature to be this way.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't," you managed though your voice sounded hoarse and strained. There was a distant look on your tear-stained face.

"What-What do you mean you can't do this anymore?" Michael asked in a small voice. You could see sadness color his eyes and spread across his face like a dark curtain.

The weak whisper of Michael's uncharacteristically meek voice stilled your breathing, red-rimmed eyes wide as you watched how his shoulders quaked, curls falling around his head, hanging forward and obstructing his view of your face, making him look all the more lost and broken. He swallowed before he could continue, trying to maintain as much of his composure as he could with his eyes red and teary like that, he could feel his heart crumbling into nothing.

It hurts. It hurts him so much because Michael really started to care for you and he thought what you two had was becoming something deeper, even more meaningful over time. There were so many questions on the tip of his tongue, but Michael didn't want to know the answer to them. "I need you. I can't do this without you. I don't know what I'd do without you. Please don't..." he trailed off.

Michael didn't complete his sentence but you knew what he was trying to say.

"You're a monster and you always will be. I'm done trying to help you. You've made it impossible for me to stay by your side. You don't deserve it. I tried, but I can't anymore. It's over. Whatever we had, it's over. And I don't ever want to see you again, so don't even try to reach me, to seek me out because you'll regret it," you swore, tone laced with poison. By the end of your statement, you were yelling, tears spilling over and cascading down your face in streams as your voice rose and cracked. Your breathing was a lot more staggered now, chest heaving under the dress you were wearing.

There was nothing but pain and sorrow etched on Michael's face, but again, you couldn't let it hold you back. You were not going to comfort him this time and hold him in your arms and tell him everything was going to be alright or kiss him to make him feel better or soothe his worries. No, you couldn't. You thought you were doing good for the world by coddling the Antichrist, but it turned out that none of it mattered. He was still the spawn of Satan, an abomination.

"You said you weren't going to leave. You weren't going to leave me," Michael repeated, his voice breaking between his words. He blinked twice and opened his mouth in a better effort to breathe. It only set his jaw open and tensed, looking as if he were about to say something else but couldn't force the words out. The realization that he couldn't undo this damage pulled him apart.

"I can't be around you Michael. I can't. I can't condone it, because if I did, then I'm just as bad as you are," you told him cruelly, your voice was ice cold. You inhaled, then exhaled deeply once more. The flames in your eyes were back again, burning brighter than before.

"I knew it. I knew you would leave me. Just like the others," Michael whispered, nearly choking on his words.

"Well, you were right, but it's only because you made sure of that," you said with a frown.

Your jaw clenched. You couldn't even look at him, now.

"I'm sorry, alright? I just-"

And with that, you looked away and gathered up your bag and listened to the sound of Michael sniffing loudly.

"Don't apologize because it doesn't mean anything. You did this knowing I didn't want it. There's no hope for you. I know now there's nothing anybody can do to help you," you whispered harshly. "Goodbye, Michael."

"Listen, I'm sorry..."

You hesitated, heart hammering, then made for the door without looking back. You stepped quickly outside into the crisp nighttime air, closed the door, and let out a stream of curse words under your breath.

You squeezed your hands together into tight fists, digging your nails into your palms as you lost the battle to swallow down the pain. A muffled sob vibrated in your throat and broke through the silence outside and soon you were gasping for air, staring ahead blankly as your vision blurred. "God dammit," you muttered, unable to control the jerky, awkward trembling of your lower lip. Your shoulders slumped forward in defeat, your back against the door.

The pain in your fingers eventually became too much to tolerate and you loosened your grip, bringing your shaky hands up to your face to hide for a moment. You tried desperately to contain the red hot poison spilling out of you. You bowed your head and took fistfuls of your own hair, tugging at it as you trembled violently. Tears were now rolling down your neck and dampening the neckline of your dress, the soggy fabric serving only as an uncomfortable reminder of how hopeless and pathetic you felt.

Inside, Michael slumped against the wall, unable to steady his breathing. He reached for someone who wasn't there and sank to the floor. He was painfully aware how large the house was when you were gone, how empty the rooms were, how wide and cold the bed would be now despite all the pillows and heavy duvet. The home you two furnished and filled with things that had inspired you and left him feeling some sense of security had lost all its meaning now. He cried helplessly over the invasive 'what ifs' that crept up the base of his neck and nestled firmly in his mind, each one leaving him alone, each one ending in you getting fed up and sick of him, one way or another.

Michael was so worked up that the only sound he could hear was his own labored breathing and the thick cries that clung to his throat, coating it with a dull, tight ache. He squeezed his eyes shut and lazily smacked the back of his head against the wall, once, twice, a third time before he stopped, bringing his hands back to his face to scream against them in an attempt to release some of the pain inside of him.

"I think you've really lost her this time, Michael," Miriam said, walking over to help Michael get back on his feet.

"Yeah, but it's not forever," Michael whispered brokenly with a scowl.

"She's going to hate you even more when she finds out what you've got planned for the world, but we're doing the Devil's work and that's what matters, can't let a girl get in the way of that. She was making you weak anyway, and she didn't deserve you. Satan would never approve of her," Miriam said, shaking her head in disapproval.

"What am I going to do?" Michael whined, a weak sound bubbling in his throat.

"You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself and pick yourself back the fuck up. We got a lot of work to do," Miriam told him, scolding him in a motherly tone.

Michael was quiet as he fought to gain control of his breathing, slipping in and out of short panicked little breaths as his tired mind went back and forth before finally settling, the broken little cogs no longer grinding against each other as they reset themselves.

"Okay," Michael whispered with a nod.

"That's the spirit, Michael," Miriam smiled, stroking Michael's cheek with a hand and wiping the tears from his face.

You never wanted to see Michael again, at least you hoped you never would. But little did you know, four years from now, you and Michael would be reunited, though it would be under very dire circumstances; the apocalypse. It was the beginning of the end.


	15. The Beginning of the End

You awoke from a nightmare, what must have been the seventh one this week. As always, it began in blood and ended in more blood and death and anguish with only some of the details changed. The laughter that rang in your ears as you woke followed you into the pale light of dawn. The laughter that belonged to the white-faced demon. You had been dreaming of him for quite some time now, it seemed like every night he would visit you. You rationalized it in your mind to be none other than Michael, and all you knew was he wasn't going to stop taunting you. This demon was an evil entity constantly mocking and tormenting you, and that sounded just like someone you knew. It had been three years, three long years had passed since you last seen him, in the flesh, that was. He would never leave you in your dreams.

You sat up alone––par for the course these days. A cold sweat bathed your skin. And when you looked down at the bed, you found your cat curled up on the end of it and she awoke as she felt it shift with your weight. She yawned as she stretched her paws out.

You rubbed your hands over your face, then leaned forward, elbows on knees. Blinking away the spots that formed from the pressure, your eyes focused, squinting slightly. If it wasn't for the glass windows, instead of walls, which allowed the yellow-orange glow of the streetlights inside, you wouldn't have been able to see anything at all, let alone the overall shapes and outlines of the surrounding objects. A hand ran up to scratch at your head as a deep sigh passed your lips before it turned into a yawn.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, then scrubbed your fingers through your hair, trying to shake the chill. You couldn't get the image of the demon out of your mind and how you were standing still in a world plagued by ruins and hellfire, it was almost like you were staring back at death itself, and it was anything but pretty.

Of course, you tried to tell yourself, it made sense that your nightmares would drag up old fears, especially now. But these were no ordinary nightmares, far from it. Sometimes it felt like a premonition, a premonition of impending doom, like you were seeing a glimpse of the end of the world, and that was a horrifying thought.

With another sigh, you rose. You would sleep no more, it was time to get out of bed and start the day.

At least it was yourself you dreamed of, dying in the blood and the rain, and not your best friend Olivia––not as far as you could tell. Thank God for small mercies.

In the three years that had passed, you went back to living with Olivia. You shared your sob story about everything that happened and she, being your best friend, welcomed you back with open arms. Things were comfortable, not the best they could be, but comfortable. You didn't dare go back to the Miss Robichaux's Academy, there was too much grief and pain and misery attached to that place, and you didn't know what had become of it after the massacre Michael inflicted there. Not a day went by that you didn't think about them. The sisters whom you lost due to Michael's brutality; their deaths were forever etched in your mind. They would show up in your nightmares, too, asking, no begging you to save them, and you tried and tried but the outcome was always the same. You couldn't make it in time to save them, you were always too late, or there was some unknown force holding you back from doing so. Nevertheless, you endured so many nights of losing them all over again, and there was nothing you could do about it. When the nightmares first started, you would wake up screaming and crying, but over time, you had grown so used to the same horrifying visions that you would just wake up, numb and empty, staring off into nothingness as the gruesome scene played over and over on a loop inside your head.

You could never forgive Michael for what he did to them.

Your powers and abilities had reached new heights and your magic was soaring, you were no longer the timid, fearful girl who didn't know what to do with herself.

You were still attending school and you found yourself a steady job in the area so you were covered and finally some semblance of a normal life had found its way back to you. Michael was no longer a part of your life and that meant things were easier, more tame. Whatever he was doing, wherever he was, you had convinced yourself that you didn't care. You didn't return to your house. You didn't know whether or not he was still living there, but it didn't matter. He could stay there with his Miriam automaton for all you cared.

Though, you hadn't stopped thinking about Michael since the day you'd broke it off. You had thrown yourself into your work ever since, laboring away each day until grief and heartbreak had morphed into exhaustion––but you'd never forgotten the time you two shared. It had been exhilarating, freeing, had made you feel alive in a way little else did. Now, you sighed at the memories, and thinking about him had brought forth a mix of affection, longing, and disappointment but then there was the anger and burning rage and hatred that bloomed with it. You would not allow yourself to miss him. Though, many days you would feel a tugging, sinking feeling of sorrow which resided deep inside your gut and liked to show up every time you started reminiscing about the past, the addition of nostalgia doubling the overall heaviness the sadness brought on. It was frustrating, you were supposed to forget about him, but every time you tried, suddenly you would think of his smile or the way he whispered your name or the many times you two were intimate. This brought on the confusion and uncertainty that chained these feelings together in a seemingly invisible web that always snuck up on you and hit you with full force before you could grasp what was happening.

"That bad?" Olivia asked, taking the seat opposite of you. She held an enormous, steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and set another in front of you. The aroma of hazelnut teased your nose.

"Thanks," you said, taking the cup in your hands.

"Want to talk about it?" Olivia questioned.

You winced. "Not really. Haven't been sleeping well, that's all," you sipped at the coffee, letting it warm you from the inside out. "S'good."

"Glad you like it," she replied. She gave you a pointed look, then relented and sipped at her own coffee. "I can tell something's bothering you."

But when you said nothing and shook your head, she dropped the subject.

"I can't believe the term is nearly over. Where did the time go?"

"I don't know. Time really flies," you answered.

You two made small talk for a while, in the pale afternoon sun by the kitchen window. But then after some time, you noticed that her expression grew pensive, and you could tell she wanted to ask you something but she wasn't sure if she should.

"Can I ask you something?" Olivia finally asked.

"Pretty sure you just did but shoot," you said with a shrug.

"Do you miss him? Do you still think about him?" Olivia questioned, her eyes full of genuine curiosity and you just knew she wasn't going to drop it this time.

"Who's him?" you asked, playing dumb.

"You know who I'm talking about! Michael!" Olivia raised her voice and threw her hands up. "You haven't really talked about him, like you avoid the subject a lot."

"Oh, him," you answered in a bitter tone. "Well to answer your question. I don't miss him nor do I ever think about that asshole."

"Now I know that's a blatant lie. You two were like together, like a thing, like a couple. You two were fucking!" Olivia exclaimed, shouting the words out like a deranged parrot.

"We were not a couple, okay? That motherfucker is dead to me," you snapped, shooting her a glare but still she was on one of her rants now and she wasn't going to relent any time soon.

"Did you guys ever do anal? I heard an experience like that could bond you two for life," Olivia started, asking really invasive questions.

"What? Okay, you better drop this right now," you said with a look of disgust, shaking your head in annoyance.

"You didn't answer the question. Oh my god, you so did!" Olivia cackled, nudging your shoulder with her hand.

"I don't need to answer that! You're being really weird, seriously shut up!" you whined, nudging her shoulder back.

"I mean how many people get to say they fell for the Antichrist? That's why I have so many questions!" she pointed out, and she was a little too upbeat for such a morbid subject for you.

"Well, it's over now, and I'm very happy that it is," you told her, and you thought if you said the lie out loud you would start to believe it, too.

"He brought your cat back for you," Olivia mentioned.

"Yeah, but that doesn't take away the fact that he caused me a world of pain," you told her with a frown.

"But you still haven't met the one yet. Maybe that's because he was the one. You always liked the bad boys!" Olivia continued, and she was really getting on your last nerve now.

"Michael was not some bad boy. He's a murderer and his sole purpose in life is to bring chaos and destruction," you snapped, but she didn't pay much mind to your displeasure.

"Okay, maybe Michael wasn't a bad boy. He's the son of Satan, but still, he's on the spectrum of bad boys," Olivia explained.

"Where are you going with this exactly?" you asked, your brows furrowed.

"My point is you're still thinking about him! You haven't forgotten about him because you still care. I know you do," Olivia persisted.

"You couldn't be more wrong," you denied, taking another sip of your coffee. "And I would really like it if we stopped talking about this."

"Okay okay, I get it, you don't want to talk about it. Hey, maybe you scored some points back with God after abandoning the Antichrist," Olivia suggested. "If you repent, your soul can be forgiven, right?"

"Olivia, I'm a witch, I'm not a virgin, I lived in a house full of Satanic decor for most of my life. Heaven is the last place I'll end up," you told her, rolling your eyes.

"And you fucked the Antichrist! The spawn of Satan. You can't forget that part," Olivia added with a snicker.

You shot her an unforgiving glare.

"Sorry," she mumbled before drinking more of her coffee.

Your expression softened and you sighed. "I just want to put it all behind me, okay? So I prefer if we continued acting like none of that ever happened. It would be highly appreciated."

"I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises," Olivia said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes again and then your phone's alert tone chimed loudly, and so did Olivia's. You took your cell out of your pocket and read the message you received. It was an urgent alert and the second you viewed it, your blood ran cold and you froze up in shock.

The text read: BALLISTIC MISSILE THREAT INBOUND TO LOS ANGELES. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

"Oh my god," you whispered, a series of violent shudders ran through you, and you looked back at Olivia with a grim gaze.

"What the fuck?" Olivia said around a puff, looking back at you with concern etched on her features. "This can't be real."

"Turn on the news! Hurry!" you told her. You both ran to the living room and Olivia switched the TV on.

"Hong Kong, London, numerous sites in the Baltics, and Moscow have all been hit and destroyed by nuclear ICBMs. This is it, ladies and gentlemen, I can't believe we actually did it," the anchorman said gravely.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Olivia repeated, sounding absolutely hysterical. You were at a loss for words yourself and you felt nothing but dread fill your lungs, your blood freezing in your veins. Panic was setting in, and you were trying to wrap your brain around everything and process every bit of information.

The anchorman turned away from the camera for a moment. "We have just been notified to evacuate. I'm not gonna make it home. So if my children are watching this, Daddy loves you."

And with that, Olivia turned the TV off and was trembling all over, every inch of her had been covered in gooseflesh.

"This can't be happening. This can't be happening. Oh my god, this can't be real! There has to be somewhere we can go! Somewhere we can hide!" Olivia broke down, her voice becoming a broken stammer. "Fuck. I'm so scared. I'm so fucking scared."

You pulled Olivia in a tight embrace and rubbed her back lovingly in an attempt to soothe her, but there was nothing you could possibly do or say to help this situation, not a damn thing. You felt completely and utterly hopeless. You couldn't believe it.

"I'm scared, too," you admitted in a whisper.

"No, no, it can't be true," Olivia sobbed, her tears staining your blouse and soaking the material as she desperately clung to you.

As you tried to comfort your best friend and held her close in your arms, you saw a vehicle approaching outside the window.

Olivia lifted her head upon the noise and looked out, her eyes narrowed as she sniffed loudly.

"Who's out there?" Olivia asked around a choked sound.

Then a moment later there was a thunderous knock on the door. Olivia slipped away from your arms and walked over to the door, listening for a moment but they only continued banging on it. She opened it and two people, a man and a woman dressed in suits stepped inside. The expressions on their faces were blank, cold and stern.

"What's happening?" Olivia questioned, her lower lip trembling.

The man stated your full name before adding, "You need to come with us, now."

"Who are you?" Olivia asked, running back over to you, her hands on your shoulders protectively. "What are you doing here?"

"Your friend has been selected by The Cooperative. We have a location prepared for her where she'll be safe," the woman said, her tone leaving no room for further discussion.

"Selected? What does that mean?" you asked, confused. A wave of anxiety washed over you and a rock settled in the pit of your stomach. Your chest tightened and your heart took off like a skyrocket.

"We can't disclose that information at this time, it's classified," the man answered nonchalantly.

"So you're not even going to tell me why I'm being chosen?" you challenged, your brows raised as you stared back at him, becoming more and more frustrated by the second.

"She's not going anywhere with you!" Olivia barked, standing in front of you defensively.

The man took a step closer to her and faced her when he said, "Your friend doesn't have a choice. We're the only chance she has to live through this."

"What about her? What about Olivia?" you asked, not wanting to leave her behind. She has been the one to stick by you through thick and thin. You didn't want to lose her.

"We're only here for you," the woman answered in a solemn voice, poker-faced.

"Sorry, but there's no way I'm going then," you told them with a glare.

"We can't accept that," the woman answered humorlessly.

Two men then came in, who you assumed worked for the Cooperative, and yanked you away from Olivia.

"No, no, no! What are you doing? Please! Don't do this!" Olivia begged, trying to stop the two men who had grabbed you with a firm grip. You were kicking and screaming, attempting to fight them off but they were much stronger than you, and it was futile. There was no way out of this.

"Get the fuck off me! I don't want to go! No!" you cried out, the words tearing from your throat and the last thing you heard before the door slammed shut was Olivia's broken pleas.

The two men hauled you into the vehicle they had arrived in and drove off without saying another word to you. You were asking them questions, trying to get more information but they provided you with no answers. You couldn't stop trembling with rage as they headed to the destination you assumed you would be staying at.

After the drive, you were taken into a cage in a dark bunker where you met two other people in the same situation as you. Their names were Emily and Timothy. The boy had exceptional genetic makeup and the agents found out through an ancestry web site where he submitted his DNA. The girl was awoken from her slumber in a cell and she was in jail for protesting on her school campus. And as you all compared notes, you heard and felt a thunderous boom outside, it was the explosion from the missile detonation. The piercing sound of a buzzer went off, making you flinch and cower to a corner. You were terrified and angry and feared the absolute worst was to come.

Two long weeks had passed and you were finally out of the bunker, free from the prison food they would feed you and from the small space you were enclosed in. The agents then told you, along with Emily and Timothy that you were being transported to one of ten outposts. It was a fallout shelter and you would be safe there. You had to wear a contamination suit before exiting the vehicle and they dropped you off at the gates of this apparent sanctuary.

There had been a heavy fog that blanketed the earth outside, leaving a dusky green in its wake that made you feel like you had been staring back at the void. The gates then opened and a figure clad all in black led you inside. As you entered the gates and walked further inside, you spotted two people on their knees, pleading for their lives before they were brutally executed by two men all donned in black. You couldn't help but watch in horror and a gasp escaped your lips despite yourself as you were subjected to the utter cruelty.

You were then dragged to the outpost and the figure who was leading the way had entered a code before the doors opened. You were brought to a small, dim room where you were decontaminated and a puff of white smoke spewed upon you, along with everyone else. The contamination suits were then removed and that was when you heard footsteps approaching towards the room as well as the sound of a cane echoing across the walls.

You looked up and the person standing before you was a tall, lean woman with an unsmiling, sharp face. She was a woman of commanding presence and just in the way she conducted herself, you could tell there was something very pompous about her so immediately you got a bad taste in your mouth. She was wearing a Victorian style dress and her hair was a dark shade of red that was held up in what looked like an overly edgy quiff. In her other hand she was holding a lighted candle.

She stared you down when she introduced herself, "I'm Wilhemina Venable. Welcome to Outpost 3."

She led you three outside of the contamination room to the central part of the building where a fire pit was burning.

She explained that this outpost was now a fallout shelter but for many years it served as an exclusive boys school. You knew exactly what she was talking about. It was the Hawthrone School for Exceptional Young Men. The school Michael had attended. It certainly looked familiar. Your blood was boiling in your veins now. You knew exactly who was behind this. Michael fucking Langdon. Of course. He was the reason for the end of the world. He was the reason for all the shit you had to go through thus so far. He was behind all of it and now you wanted nothing more than to find out exactly what outpost he was hiding at and rip him limb from limb.

Wilhemina further explained that the Cooperative took ownership and converted the school once they realized what was coming.

"The end?" Emily asked.

"No, the beginning," Wilhemina answered with a smirk.

You scoffed.

Emily and Timothy were the ones asking all the questions while you stood silent, trying to think up a plan to get the hell out of here and you had been fuming once you put two and two together and your suspicions were confirmed.

"The Cooperative has plans far beyond the temporary cleansing fire of the bombs. The Cooperative is not made up of nations or armies, it's a collection of the dozen greatest minds mankind has to offer. The visionaries," Wilhemina said proudly. She then started to go on a rant about how technology was what destroyed the world and that social media gave people the illusion that they were equal but that had been all swept away and that the natural order would restore itself.

"I'll show you to your rooms. As Purples, you will each be furnished with a private suite," Wilhemina told you.

"What's a purple?" Emily questioned.

"The elite. The worthy," Wilhemina answered. She smiled before she added, "Those chosen to survive."

You were a Purple. At least you were part of the elite, that was the first positive thing you heard, or at least you hoped.

She showed you the room you three would be staying at and Emily looked through the closet, scoffing when she pulled out a purple dress from a hanger. "And you expect me to wear this?"

"In the Outpost, everyone knows their place. The Purples wear purple and the Grays wear gray," Wilhemina explained matter-of-factly.

"What's a gray?" Timothy asked.

"Grays are our worker ants. Still a necessary component of any functioning society. The Grays are here to serve. And grateful for the opportunity. The alternative being nuclear winter, cancer, death," Wilhemina said, her tone grim and foreboding.

"So what are you?" you asked, raising your brows.

"I am neither. Rather, I am the strong right arm of the Cooperative. Think of me as their face," Wilhemina said arrogantly before she told us the house rules. "You will refer to me only as Ms. Venable. You may never leave the building. If you wander out onto the grounds, you will not be allowed back in due to the danger of radiation contamination. You will take your chances with the canker pus monsters beyond the gates," she warned as she took a daring step closer to Timothy. "And no unauthorized copulation of any kind, under any circumstances, no exceptions."

Emily laughed, thinking that she was joking.

You knew that she wasn't joking.

"Ask the two Grays you saw on the way in if it's a joke," Wilhemina answered gravely. "You'll find the evening wear on the left side of the armoire. We dress for dinner. Cocktails in the music room at 6:30. Be prompt. There's no excuse to be late when there's nothing else to do," she said before walking away.

Shortly afterwards you took a much needed shower and the warmth of the water soothed your bones. You took your sweet time in there and while you were at it, you used up most of the hot water. But then after you were done, you noticed there was something written on the shower glass door and it caught you by surprise. It wasn't a word, but rather a number; 666. The mark of the beast. If someone else had seen it, they would probably be scared out of their wits, but it only angered you, ignited the blood in your veins. That motherfucker was just messing with you now. You took a deep breath, needing to calm the heat that was rising in your body. You wiped it away furiously and then stepped out of the shower, drying yourself quickly before slipping your long-sleeved, glimmering and frilly purple dress on.

When you left your room, you heard the song "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" by the Carpenters playing. They played it for what felt like twenty four hours a day on a loop. You supposed you could socialize with the other people who were stuck here, it wasn't like there was much else you could do in this godforsaken place. You headed down the main floor and took a breath.

"It's the same fucking song every night," Mr. Gallant, the sassy hairstylist whined, a hand over his face. He was burnt out on the song and started complaining to the rest of the captives. Most of them were Purples, part of the elite, the privileged.

You took a seat on the sofa next to the gay couple, Andre and Stu. You noticed that there was a young woman with her hair tied in a ridiculous updo serving drinks to everyone and when she handed you one, you locked eyes with her and nearly jolted aback. It was Mallory. The witch you had grown very close to at Miss Robichaux's Academy. She was wearing glasses and behaved in a very timid manner, but there could be no mistake. How did she get here?

You looked across from you and spotted Coco in a purple dress, though you hardly recognized her as well, she looked like a rich snob whose hobby was to complain about everything.

"Mallory? What are you doing here?" you asked, your eyes staring back at hers intently.

"Do you want a drink?" Mallory offered with her hand extended out towards you. It didn't seem like she remembered you, she treated you just like everybody else, and she offered a friendly smile at you. Everyone had seemed so pretentious besides her. "And what do you mean? I'm a Gray, this is kind of my job."

"Can we go somewhere to talk?" you pleaded, a frown marring your features.

"Hey Mallory! Would you please give me my damn drink, I'm thirsty!" Coco demanded, literally barking at Mallory.

Mallory looked at you for a long moment, but the second she heard Coco's voice, she turned away. "Coming!"

She ran over to Coco and gave her a glass of what the others speculated was mineral water. You wondered what the fuck was going on. Coco was a total bitch, nothing like the upbeat, friendly and compassionate girl you knew at Miss Robichaux's Academy, and Mallory was this apprehensive girl who was her slave, and they both had no idea who you were. This was a whole new level of fucked up. Had Michael done something to them? Did he make them forget who you were? You didn't know.

You didn't engage in much conversation. Mr. Gallant had asked you how you got here and about your story, but you only told him that they took you away from your home and they never gave you a clear answer as to why you were chosen, but now you were sure of the reason. There was no escaping the Devil himself, especially in hell.

You heard the piercing sound of a bell chiming and that was when Wilhemina Venable entered the room.

"Dinner is served, everyone," she said with her most dramatic poker-face.

Everyone gathered around the table and the Grays handed out the plates to each person. When you looked down at what was on it, your eyes widened in surprise. You weren't expecting some gourmet meal but you were hoping you could at least get a real meal, instead it was a mere cube with God knows what inside of it. Dinah speculated that it had every vitamin our bodies needed, but she didn't sound so sure.

Coco started complaining about how hungry she was, Mr. Gallant wanted to die, and everyone looked like they were about to throw up. You placed the cube on your tongue and it tasted like water mixed with something sweet, and it had a weird texture to it. You didn't know what you just put in your body and you wondered if it was slowly killing you, which maybe wouldn't be so bad if it could get you out of this hellhole.

Coco was throwing a temper tantrum because she was very unhappy about the food and was demanding that a gourmet chef like Gordon Ramsay cook her a meal. Wilhemina appeared behind her with a tap of her cane and didn't look too pleased about Coco's melodramatic outburst. Wilhemina smacked her across the face, and everyone around you gasped in surprise but you just continued drinking your water.

"I'm going to be very clear so you don't misunderstand me. We have enough nutrition for the next eighteen months, and if our situation doesn't improve, you can count on much less than that," Wilhemina said cruelly as Coco rubbed her cheek with a pout.

"Situation? Could you please tell us more about what that's looking like?" Mr. Gallant asked, his patience running thin.

"Yeah, like she'll even tell us that," you muttered. You shook your head and then when you looked up from your glass, you spotted Miriam, or actually the Miriam automaton, standing next to Wilhemina. You nearly dropped your glass on the floor as you eyed her, but she merely glanced at you, and you assumed it was only because you wouldn't stop staring at her and not because she remembered you. What the hell was going on in this place? This was literally hell.

You were just waiting for Michael to show his goddamn face so you could strangle the life out of him. You were stuck with the robotic version of your mother, two witches at Miss Robichaux's Academy who didn't even remember you, and a bunch of rich snobs.

"Fuck my life," you whispered under your breath, absolutely fuming but trying your best to keep it contained. Last thing you wanted was for Wilhemina to put her hands on you, too.

"We had a perimeter alert this morning," Wilhemina started gravely. "Something penetrated the grounds. It was a carrier pigeon delivering a message from our benefactors."

Coco asked if it was possible for them to eat it but then Miriam replied, "It was contaminated by the fallout."

Evie, Mr. Gallant's grandmother suggested that they could boil it.

"There are no governments, only rotting mounds of corpses, too many to bury. Starved people will kill for a piece of bread. Three outposts have been overrun. We are the last vestiges of civilized life on the planet," Wilhemina explained.

"The world you know is gone," Miriam added.

"Two weeks? That's all it took?" Andre asked, appalled.

"It was always fragile. They made you think the system was a rock, but it was just a water balloon, one prick of the needle and wham," Miriam emphasized with a popping sound, "that's all it took."

"We will only survive if we follow the rules," Wilhemina continued.

You were sick of Wilhemina's rules, it felt like she was making them up as she went along. She just seemed power hungry and was getting off on being a total tyrant. She was often unreasonably cruel and she may have been intimidating the others but she certainly wasn't intimidating you.

There was a tall woman that entered the scene and whispered something to Miriam but you couldn't hear what it was.

"There's a problem. We've detected a spike in the background radiation, centered in this room," Miriam stated.

And with those words she made everyone paranoid.

"It has to be them, they just came from the outside," Mr. Gallant started pointing fingers at you, Emily, and Timothy.

"What? Oh my god, could you be any more of an asshole?" you spat with a look of disgust.

Emily and Timothy started panicking, claiming that they were clean.

"Everyone, place your hands on the table and don't move," Miriam demanded, and everyone did as she said, including you even though it was killing you inside. Miriam started checking everyone individually with a Geiger counter.

"Radioactive contamination is a grave risk to our entire community, the clean rule is to protect all of us, a single stray gamma particle could cause skin lesions. Your DNA breaks apart, your body disintegrates. It'll make you wish you died in the blast. But someone here decided that their individual needs were more important. Someone went outside and touched something filthy. It makes me sick to think this person is selfish enough to risk contaminating all..." she trailed off when she got a spike from her Geiger counter upon contact with Mr. Gallant.

"No, no, no, that can't be right, because the only thing I've touched is Coco's hair," Mr. Gallant said in his defense.

"She's clean, you're not," Miriam told him.

"No, that's a mistake, the machine is wrong!" Mr. Gallant shouted but then a man dressed in black took him away from the table and led him to another room.

Miriam continued with the Geiger counter and it spiked on Stu as well, his boyfriend Andre started freaking out, but it only fell on deaf ears and Stu was taken to the decontamination room with Mr. Gallant.

You could hear Mr. Gallant and Stu groaning in pain and agony, pleading for mercy as they were being scrubbed furiously inside the small room. The sounds of their wails made you feel sick and suddenly that cube didn't sit so well in your stomach.

Everyone stayed quiet except for Andre who was sobbing out loud.

The next day, Andre was still a mess and he didn't understand how Stu could be contaminated when he never left his sight. Andre and Coco then got into a heated argument because Coco was being very disrespectful towards his boyfriend.

Wilhemina and Miriam returned, along with Mallory. Soup was for dinner tonight, no vitamin-filled cubes, which took everyone aback. It was unusual.

"Enjoy the bonne bouche, but don't get used to it," Wilhemina said before joining the table.

You started stirring the soup around with a spoon and examining what was in it. It resembled dog food and you took a whiff of it, and it didn't smell so good, either. You wondered where they got the meat.

"You think bribing us with a hot meal is gonna make everything okay?" Andre said, his voice breaking.

"We're not trying to bribe anyone, Andre, but there is something you all need to understand. There is no 'us' and 'them', we are in this together," Wilhemina's told him in a stern voice. "No individual is greater than the group. We did what we had to do."

"Where have you been hiding this fresh meat?" Dinah asked.

"We have our resources," Wilhemina started before adding, "for special occasions."

"What type of meat is this?" you questioned, raising your brows.

"It's chicken," Miriam replied seriously.

"That doesn't look like a chicken bone," Timothy said honestly.

Andre had been eating the soup when suddenly he spit out a piece of what looked like a bone. He was violently shaking. "Tell me that doesn't look like a finger."

Wilhemina stayed silent and that was when Andre started flipping his shit. "Oh no, the stew is Stu!" he cried out, standing up from his seat. Everyone got up as well, panic-stricken and gagging. You pushed the bowl away from you, glad that you hadn't taken one bite of it. Andre was hysterical, throwing a coughing fit as he whimpered.

"Don't be so ridiculous. There are some lines that can never be crossed. Not eating people is at the first rank," Wilhemina said, talking to everyone like they were all stupid.

Evie was the only one who was enjoying it and didn't give a rat's ass what was in it. You wondered if it wasn't Stu, what was in that stew? Frankly, you didn't really want to know or if you would ever get some damn answers around this place.

"Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" continued to play and you didn't think it was possible to hate a song so much, but you hated it with every fiber of your being. Everyone was back at the couch, feeling sorry for themselves while Andre started to reproach Evie for 'eating' Stu, and accused her of being a cannibal as well as everyone else, but Dinah assured him that wasn't true because if Stu was contaminated then why would Wilhemina consume it herself and allow everyone eat it too? It just didn't make any sense.

Mallory was passing around drinks again and you felt so bad for her, she was practically a servant that had to aid all these pestering, ungrateful fools. You decided to pull her aside to speak to her privately, maybe you could talk some sense into her.

"Hey Mallory, do you remember me at all?" you asked awkwardly, offering a small smile.

"No, should I?" Mallory questioned, raising her brows, though her expression was blank.

"Do you recall anything about yourself, at all?" you continued, but unfortunately it didn't feel like you were getting anywhere.

"I'm Coco's assistant," Mallory answered a little too quickly. "Why are you asking me weird questions? Do you know something I don't?"

"Do you remember a place called Miss Robichaux's Academy?" you asked, hoping the name at least sounded familiar to her.

"No, can't say I've ever heard of it," Mallory replied, a confused look on her face. "Is that some kind of fancy school or something?"

"Mallory, we met there. We were friends," you told her, a frown taking over your features.

"That's not possible. This is where we met. I really don't have a clue of what you're talking about," Mallory said, her voice raising slightly with a hint of frustration.

"Don't you know what you are?" you leaned closer to whisper the words but it seemed to make her uneasy and and she took a step back, apprehensive.

"I-I'm sorry, I have to go," she muttered before running off to Coco, like some lost puppy. It was hopeless.

Suddenly there was a shift in the air and everyone grew quiet. There was no shouting or arguing anymore. No background noise whatsoever. That dreaded song stopped and the room was filled with a near-deafening silence. Then moments later, Maureen McGovern's "The Morning After" started playing. For two straight weeks, they had been playing that damned "Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft" but now it was something different, did that mean anything?

Everyone got up from their seats and started speculating as to why the sudden change in music. Mr. Gallant started singing the lyrics and after a moment he came to he conclusion that it meant something, that the Cooperative was trying to send them a message.

 _There's got to be a morning after_  
 _If we can hold on through the night_  
 _We have a chance to find the sunshine_  
 _Let's keep on looking for the light._

"I think they're saying, 'Hang on, we're coming for you', someone's gonna recuse us," Mallory speculated with a bright smile full of hope.

"Oh my god, finally!" you exclaimed.

"The Cooperative is coming for us! Halle-fucking-lujah!" Mr. Gallant cried out to the rooftops. Everyone was so hopeful and optimistic, and it was so contagious that it made you feel like maybe there was a spark of hope that you were going to make it out of this place. Everyone was crying and laughing and screaming and dancing with joy in celebration. It was truly a miracle. You just had to hold on through the night and keep on looking for the light as the song said.

Eighteen months passed.

Eighteen fucking months passed.

A year and a half.

All hope was lost.

There was no hope.

No one was coming to save you. There was only the void and an endless vast of nothingness outside the walls.

You were in hell. You had to be. There was no other explanation. In here there was only pain and suffering and misery. Any semblance of hope that you had before had completely vanished. You missed your best friend. You missed your cat. You missed doing homework. You missed just walking outside to breathe fresh air. You missed having freedom. All of that was gone and you had far too much time to think about it, to process how the world you knew was in ruins.

You thought you hated the Carpenters song with everything in you, but "The Morning After" by Maureen McGovern made you feel a whole different level of rage and hatred, especially due to the fact that it gave you a false sense of optimism. It was a dreadful, godawful song, and it was driving you absolutely insane.

When you looked around the room, everyone was in a state of depression, feeling utterly hopeless and helpless, and you could feel it in the air.

"Maybe it's time to eat someone," Mr. Gallant proposed, breaking the silence.

"Or at least like an arm," Coco suggested. Her hair was a total mess because Mr. Gallant no longer had the motivation to fix it anymore.

"Well, you were right about the song," Timothy said to Mr. Gallant. "There was a morning after. It just looked exactly like the morning before."

"No one's coming. No one's going to recuse us. We're fucked," you whispered with a lifeless expression.

"The nuclear winter came, and it finished off everything that the bombs had left alive," Timothy added with a look of despair etched on his features. "The world got colder, deadlier."

In the eighteen months that had passed, not much had changed, and you spent most of it just keeping to yourself. You didn't really try to engage in much conversation with the others because personally you found most of them to be intolerable. There was Andre who was always throwing a fit about something, Coco was the biggest drama queen and could hardly even walk on her own without Mallory's assistance, Dinah was very pretentious and always talking about her roles as an actress, Evie was a greedy old woman who only seemed to care about herself, and Mr. Gallant believed he could style someone's pubic hair to look pretty.

Emily and Timothy were in some kind of forbidden star-crossed secret romance and basically attached to the hip. You could hear them kissing in the dead of night, whispering sweet nothings to the other when you were trying to get some sleep. You couldn't have felt more lonely. You didn't have anyone. As they were trying to be incredibly chaste and quiet with their kisses, you had mastered the skill of crying yourself to sleep every night in complete and utter silence.

Things had become so extreme and food was so scarce that it had to be rationed to one meal a day, which meant half a cube, so you were constantly hungry, depressed, and angry at all hours of the day. It was not a good combination.

"It's not optimal, but it's not impossible. Either way, we don't have a choice," Wilhemina stated grimly. "Not if we want to keep eating anything at all."

"I can't fucking do this anymore!" Mr. Gallant protested, throwing his hands up in frustration as he stood up from his seat.

"We don't know how strong we are until we have to face adversity," Dinah said, attempting to calm down Mr. Gallant. "This could be an opportunity for all of us to grow."

"Don't give me that make-pretend motivational shit you used to say on your show or else I'm going to shove this fucking fork in your neck!" Mr. Gallant threatened, pointing the fork in her direction.

You wouldn't mind taking turns with Mr. Gallant if you were being honest.

"Calm down," Evie stressed.

"What is the point of all of this? Starving, killing each other, shooting one another? All we're doing is waiting around to find out how we're going to die," Coco started in a bitter tone.

"We should take our chances outside," Mallory suggested.

"She's right! We need to get the fuck out of here," Mr. Gallant replied in agreement.

"Nobody's going anywhere," Miriam spoke up solemnly.

"Well I'm getting sick of twiddling my thumbs and sitting around doing jackshit. This is not living!" you spat, shooting daggers at Miriam.

Mr. Gallant swung his plate at the wall in a fit of rage. "What are you gonna do?! Shoot us all?! Huh?!"

"I'm with the gay one," you added, standing up from your chair and following him out of the kitchen.

You were ready to leave but you were stopped in your tracks when you heard the ear-shattering noise of an alarm blaring. Everyone rose from their chairs and listened with worry etched on their faces.

"Perimeter alert, there's been a breach," the tall woman donned all in black said. Miriam headed outside with her to find out what was happening outside.

That couldn't be good.

You swallowed a thick gulp.

The doors opened.

You were back at the table, waiting rather impatiently in your chair. Unfortunately for you, you would have to endure even more waiting but when you heard the sound of the doors close, you knew someone entered the building. You detected a dark presence, could sense it a mile away, and it drained you of your spirit.

The next day had rolled by, it was a new morning, and you still hadn't gotten any answers. Any time you would ask Wilhemina or Miriam about who came in, they would immediately silence you.

You were headed to the library to read the hundredth book since your stay here, it was the only thing that was keeping you sane in this place. But on your way there, that was when you heard Emily shrieking from her room. Timothy had came to her recuse faster than you did but when you found out what was the cause of her screaming, you saw snakes slithering on the ground near the closet. Emily and Timothy were scared silly and had jumped back on the bed.

"What the fuck? How did these get in here?" you asked before your own screech fell from your lips when a snake hissed at you.

"What the hell is going on?" Miriam barked and then made her way inside the room, looking down at the ground where the snakes continued to slither around. There was so many of them and you couldn't help but wonder how they got in. The tall woman had joined her, looking the snakes over, bewildered.

"I thought everything outside was dead," she said with a look of disgust.

"How did they get in?" you asked, cowering outside the door.

"God knows how deep they went after the blast, it's possible they came through the sewage, or the ventilation system," Miriam speculated and brought out a blade, slicing one of the snakes and watching as the blood poured out. A smile stretched across her lips when she held up the long snake. "Looks like we got some fresh meat. We're eating good tonight," she laughed and sliced the rest of them up.

The chopped up snakes were for dinner and the steamed soup they made with it didn't smell very appetizing but you supposed it was worth a shot. There was light conversation at the table but then you decided to ask the question that was on everyone's mind.

"So who's in your office?"

"I beg your pardon?" Wilhemina questioned, acting as though she didn't understand what you just asked.

"The alarms went off and then someone came inside," you continued.

"I would like to know that too actually. I think that's something we are all wondering," Emily added in agreement.

"All questions will be answered in due course," Wilhemina said, being as vague as possible. "For now, just eat."

With a sigh, you lifted up the plate that was covering your bowl of soup but you immediately jumped back when you found a snake hiding underneath it, eyes widened in horror. It turned out that you weren't the only one either, there was a snake waiting for everyone else, too. Everyone started freaking out (besides Miriam and Wilhemina, of course) and moved back from the table in alarm. Now you definitely weren't hungry or going to eat any of that snake-infested soup. You didn't understand how they got in the food, didn't Miriam kill them all? Was there more hiding? How did they even get inside the outpost in the first place? You had so many questions and they were just accumulating over time, now they were only serving to frustrate you further.

Miriam took care of the snakes like the exterminator she was but you were still shaken up by it.

You and the others were left disgruntled and hungry, and whispering amongst each other your displeasure all while trying to process what the fuck just happened. You were all seated on two sofas across from one another. But then you heard the echo of footsteps approaching, making their way to the main floor.

You looked back up and that was when you saw him. The one who decided to come out from hiding in Wilhemina's office. The one whose dark presence you sensed. The one you all had been waiting for.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart skipped a beat. Your eyes were widened in surprise before they narrowed.

It was Michael. He finally decided to show up. Of course he was behind this mess of an operation. After all this time, why now? Where was he all those months ago?

Your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides, your body hot as a burst of anger blossomed in your chest. You gritted your teeth and met his eyes with the sharpest glare you could muster. It took everything in you to stay seated on the sofa and not throttle him.

Yes, only through the end of the world could he get you back in the same room as him, otherwise there was no way in hell it would be possible.


	16. When the Devil Comes Knocking

Michael entered the main floor with this arrogance about him that followed him in every footstep as he strode across the room. He was exerting dominance over everyone with that intensive, piercing stare that looked like he could bore right into your soul, examining every single person that was seated at their sofas. It made everyone feel uneasy and their mouths were practically zipped shut in fear and shock and confusion.

He had some nerve showing his face here after all this time. His eyes met yours for what must have been a second but it felt like time had paused and what was a fleeting moment stretched to an eternity, somehow. He had this condescending and patronizing air about him that seemed a lot more prominent than before, you had seen it many times, like when he was first welcomed into your home and when you visited him at the Hawthrone School where he embraced his newfound abilities, but this was something else entirely.

There was a strange feeling in your gut. You could feel anger bubbling up in you, making your heart rate quicken, it echoed deafeningly loud in your ears and made your body heat up. You felt the need to stand up and punch that bastard in the face.

He looked different, which you definitely noticed. Was he wearing makeup? Was that eyeshadow? You caught sight of it in the glowing flames behind him.

Michael paced around the room, circling around the sofas with his arms locked behind his back, studying and examining every single one of you. He was a powerful presence. The smug motherfucker looked like a Disney prince with that long hair, but he was no knight in shining armor, he was not here to save you or anyone else for that matter, you knew that. He was an agent of chaos and destruction.

Then he approached Wilhemina, tilting his head to the side slowly and silently demanding her to step aside with just a look, a look of utter and complete preeminence. That look had meant that he was in charge, now. You sensed fear in Wilhemina's eyes and demeanor, it was something you had never seen before. She was always so domineering and complacent but now she appeared meek and timid. She stepped away from the center of the room without a word as Michael took her place.

"My name is Langdon, and I represent the Cooperative," Michael started, stating his position and sounding a little too self-important for your taste. He was in charge of the people who took you from your home, against your will, what a surprise. "I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth. The three other compounds, in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas, have been overrun and destroyed. We've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated."

You were staring at him the whole time, eyes narrowed and lips formed in a bitter scowl, though he didn't meet your gaze, you knew that he could see it and feel it, too. If looks could kill, you were sure he would be a dead man.

"Can you tell us what happened to the people inside?" Timothy asked, confusion written all over his face.

"Massacred," Michael whispered in a sinister voice. "The same fate that will befall almost all of you."

"Almost all?" Mallory asked.

"In the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a fail-safe, the Sanctuary," Michael began.

"The Sanctuary?" Coco questioned, her face scrunched up as she looked absolutely baffled.

"The Sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun," Michael continued.

"Excuse me, sir, what measures exactly? Why weren't we given them?" Miriam asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

That was strange. Why did she just call him sir?

"That's classified," Michael dismissed her without even giving her a passing glance as he raised his hand up. "All that matters is that the Sanctuary will survive, so the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive."

"And who are the people that are populating it?" Andre asked.

"Also classified," Michael answered matter-of-factly.

This asshole wasn't even providing answers! That was the least he could do and now he was acting like coming down here to this outpost was nothing but a mere inconvenience to him. The world was ending, for fuck's sake, and it was all because of him!

"However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us," Michael added with a curl of his lip.

There was murmuring amongst the others, their eyes lighting up and faces brightening with big smiles. He was giving them hope, they thought they had a chance of reaching this Sanctuary. But you weren't naive, you had been stuck here long enough to realize that there was no hope, especially if Michael was the one dangling it on a string in front of you.

"The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call 'Cooperating'. I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong," Michael explained.

"What the fuck is this? The Hunger Games? This is bullshit. I paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing," Coco sassed, challenging Michael.

"You don't have to sit for questioning," Michael replied, and you hated how his hair would sway slightly with every movement of his body. You loathed everything about him, all over again.

"What happens if we choose not to be interviewed?" Andre questioned.

"Then you stay here and die," Michael answered cruelly.

"I volunteer to go first," Mr. Gallant said, raising his hand.

"And so you shall," Michael told him, turning his head dramatically.

"The process should only take me a couple of days, so don't worry, you won't be kept in suspense for long. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these," Michael disclosed, revealing a small tube with some kind of powder in it. "One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

Well that was morbid, but in this moment, sounded a little tempting. Surely it would be better to go out on your own terms than have your fate in the Antichrist's hands and endure this damned interview process.

"I look forward to meeting each and every one of you," Michael concluded with a shit-eating smile on his face. And were you just imagining things or was he looking at you again?

And with that he walked away. Miriam and Wilhemina left the room as well.

"Do you two have history or something? I don't think I've ever seen you so angry before," Mr. Gallant observed, raising his brows at you.

"Let's just say I won't be attending that interview," you answered, letting out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding. "Good luck to you, though."

"Well you have to. You heard what he said. Are you really not even gonna try? Do you just want to stay here and die?" Mr. Gallant asked, sounding like he couldn't even begin to fathom what was going through your head.

"What's the point? For all we know, that Sanctuary he's talking about might not even exist! There's no proof that it does! He could just be bullshitting us," you spat.

"I'm choosing to be optimistic. Besides, I think we all deserve to be a part of that Sanctuary after all we've been through here," Mr. Gallant continued.

"He wants to divide us, to compete against one another, and make us paranoid," you told him about your suspicions.

"Well we don't have much of a choice, now do we?" Mr. Gallant challenged.

Coco and Evie started arguing with one another, something about both of them being convinced that they would make it to this Sanctuary while the other wasn't fit to make it there.

Mr. Gallant had volunteered to go first so shortly after Michael's big announcement, he went to Michael's room where he was interviewed.

Meanwhile Emily was hellbent on getting out of the outpost and believed that she could find out where this Sanctuary was located on Michael's laptop. They had discussed the plan while you were in the same room as them, you had formed a bond with the couple and became their friend during your time here. You didn't say or do anything to stop them, hell you wanted to know more information about the Sanctuary too, and who was on the damned list so you let them be the little sleuths that they were.

You stayed in your room while Emily and Timothy had started their investigation and you could hear groaning and grunting coming from another room, but it was loud enough to be ringing in your ears. You recognized it was a man's voice but as you stepped into the hall and did some eavesdropping of your own, you realized it was Gallant.

You didn't know what to think. You thought any form of sexual activity was simply forbidden here. Or at least that was what Ms. Venable said. You found that Gallant's door was a crack open and pushed it slightly to peer inside. Your eyes widened when you saw that it was a man in a black gimp suit fucking the shit out of Gallant.

"What in the fuck?" you whispered to yourself.

Gallant was clearly enjoying himself and you were left feeling disturbed and creeped out. Who the fuck was that guy in the rubber suit? If Wilhemina found out he would be a dead man, but surely he must have known that. You reverted back to your room quietly, thinking about who the man under the mask could be. Someone else must have came in with Michael. There was no way that it was Michael, right? No, Gallant was an irritating piece of work. Michael probably wouldn't even let him touch a strand of his perfect, silky hair. Still, you couldn't help but wonder.

This place was seriously fucked.

Later, Wilhemina and Miriam must have found out about the incident in Gallant's room because you could hear him screaming out the names of great gay radicals of the '70s and '80s as the crack of a whip was resounded across the halls. You couldn't help but feel bad for him. But he wasn't killed because not long after you heard him screaming at his grandmother for reporting what she had seen to Wilhemina and Miriam, fully aware of the fact that by turning him in it would have been a death sentence, only it wasn't.

When Emily and Timothy returned to the room, they told you all about the email they had read on Michael's laptop.

"They've been making up rules this entire time and lying to us about it," Timothy said, clearly frantic as he paced about the room. "What else are they lying about?"

"Oh my god. I knew we couldn't trust her," you spat, your brows knitted together in anger. You felt like an idiot. You shouldn't have obeyed any of Ms. Venable's damned rules, she and Miriam had been making them up as they went along. "I'm going to strangle that bitch."

"Are we even what they say we are, here because of our perfect DNA?" Emily questioned aloud.

"Who the fuck knows! It's not like they've been giving us any real answers about anything," you answered, crossing your arms over your chest.

"It doesn't matter," Timothy said. Emily smiled and walked over to him, planting a kiss on his lips.

You rolled your eyes, you felt like you were living in a cheesy rom-com sometimes, but as the third wheel.

You already knew where this was headed as their kissing continued and after a moment had passed, they were already on the bed.

"For fuck's sake," you grumbled to yourself and exited the room. It felt like everyone was getting some while you had been sexually frustrated for the longest time, only able to find comfort in your fantasies at night. But right now, you decided it would be better to just read instead.

You went to the library to read yet another book, wanting nothing more than to avoid all of the loonies in this outpost. You didn't want to be around anyone, you didn't even want anyone to look in your direction or to breathe in the same space as you. You wanted peace and solitude and nothing more.

You had started reading the Bible, you picked it up some time ago but you never finished it. Frankly, you had all the time in the world to finish it, but sometimes it felt strange picking it up after all the many sins you had committed. Your hands felt dirty, unclean. You were never very religious but you did believe in a higher power. You didn't know what came after, but you liked to believe there was an after. You believed in good and evil, and you certainly believed in the Devil after the things you've witnessed.

There was a passage in the Good Book that made your heart thump.

"Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings." — 1 Peter 5:8-9

You had read about the Archangel Michael and how he had conquered Satan, and the irony of the story was not lost on you. You read all about repentance, that you must turn away from evil and turn to the good. You learned that when one was guilty of various sins, he must confess in what way he has sinned in order to receive atonement and forgiveness, that was true repentance.

"The one who conceals his sins will not prosper, but whoever confesses and renounces them will find mercy." — (Proverbs 28:13)

You swallowed a thick gulp. Could you ever be forgiven? Had you truly repented for your sins?

When you left the library, that was when you learned that Ms. Venable and Miriam had found out about Emily's and Timothy's little love-making session. Needless to say, they were in deep shit, but that didn't stop them from calling Ms. Venable out on her absolute fuckery of bullshit rules. The Cooperative has never cared if people wanted to have sex.

You were in the hallway as you listened to the heated dispute. Emily was then slapped when she told Ms. Venable how sick she was. She wasn't wrong and it needed to be said.

You heard Wilhemina say, "The world is strewn with the unburied corpses of seven billion people, and all you can think about is fornication? And I'm the sick one?"

Exactly. It was the end of the world. There was literally no better time to have sex! You knew you were all gonna die anyway so why the fuck not! Besides, no one deserves to die a virgin, and that was what you had assumed Timothy was all this time.

They were then taken away to another room as they begged for mercy, but it only fell on deaf ears. These people were insane, the ones who were in charge of everything should not have such a high authority. They were ruthless dictators who wanted to make everyone else as miserable as they were. And just because no one wanted to fuck them didn't mean it was right to punish those who were getting some action.

But the strife between Wilhemina and Miriam vs Emily and Timothy was short-lived because apparently Michael came to the poor couple's rescue. How kind and noble of him, you thought. No, of course he had his own agenda. He wouldn't do such a thing out of the goodness of his heart. Sometimes you wondered if he even had one.

Michael had then interviewed Timothy, Mallory, Coco, Dinah, and Andre. And you heard from Gallant that Evie had died in her sleep. Though, you didn't believe it. That woman was perfectly healthy and she probably had half of a century left in her. Something happened to her. She did report what she had seen Gallant doing in his room, or more like who was doing him, and now she mysteriously died? There was a lot more to that story than he was willing to tell you.

But finally, Wilhemina arrived at your door with the last thing you wanted to hear.

"Michael Langdon is ready to interview you now."

"Tell him he can go fuck himself," you told her bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest.

She held back what looked like an amused chuckle and a smug half-smile.

"He needs to see you now. He doesn't like to repeat himself or to be kept waiting," she persisted.

"Again, my message reminds the same. Let him know he can shove this whole interview shit up his ass," you replied with a sharp glare. "I don't need to be a part of it."

"Okay, I don't think he'll be too pleased to hear that," Wilhemina said before walking away.

You huffed and then slammed the door afterwards. You returned to your bed and curled up under the covers. Your head ached and you hadn't slept much for the past few days. There was a lot on your mind and so much shit unfolding around you, it felt like you could never catch a break. It had been a long day and you just wanted to avoid all your problems and everyone around you for a little while.

You sighed deeply before your eyes drifted shut.

But your moment of tranquility was a short one and suddenly the door to your room swung open.

Before you were even able to turn around, you were being practically dragged from the bed with firm hands.

"Get up!" Miriam shouted at you, bringing you to your feet with her hand on one of your arms, and then the other was pulled by someone else, the tall stoic woman, so you found yourself trapped between them as they forced you out of the room.

"Let me go! Hey! Let me go!" you demanded, kicking and screaming but the two women had a tight, bruising hold on you.

"He needs to see you. You're not getting out of this so stop fighting," Miriam ordered cruelly, leading you to a room down in the dark hallways.

"I don't want to see him! I don't want to be interviewed for Christ's sake!" you shouted at them, but it was futile.

"You don't have a choice," Miriam croaked, her fingers digging into your skin.

Miriam opened a door with her grip still on your arm and then pushed you inside of the room. There Michael stood seated on a chair by a desk.

"Ow! Fuck!" you screeched and waved your arm when Miriam finally let go of it.

"I thought I said to bring her in here unharmed," Michael told Miriam, looking back at her with a nonchalant expression.

"I'm sorry sir, but she's a fighter. She didn't make it easy," Miriam explained, and you were shooting daggers at her as you ran a hand down your now injured arm.

"Yeah, I know she is," Michael noted with a curl of his lip. "I'll take her off your hands. You may leave now."

"Are you sure? What if she tries something?" Miriam asked.

"I can handle her. Besides, it's not like she has anywhere else to go," Michael commented in amusement. You hated how he was talking about you like you weren't even in the room.

"Okay sir," Miriam said, leaving with the other woman and shutting the door, the sound echoing across the room. Your stomach tightened and you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat.

You did not want to be alone in the same room as him. You did not want him to interview you.

You swallowed thickly, your gaze narrowed in a sharp glare as he stared back at you with a daring smirk across the room, a devilish glint in his eye.


	17. Interview with the Devil

Tall and broad-shouldered, he filled up his corner of the room in an imposing manner. Unwelcome thoughts presented themselves, and you tamped them down firmly.

You became aware that you were standing in front of the burning candles, wearing a very thin purple dress. The silhouette of your body, illuminated from behind, was likely on display to the smirking pest.

Of course it was; the expression on his face confirmed it.

Your conflicting feelings boiled over in a surge of hostility.

"You've got a lot of damn nerve!" you finally told him, your eyes fiery. You charged towards the desk where he sat. You were wholly incapable of controlling your emotions around the blasted man. As you looked at him, you saw his sea-blue eyes turn glacial.

"Well it's nice to see you too," Michael said with an arm planted on the desk, his eyes glinting as his smirk widened.

"What the fuck have you been doing all this time? Where the fuck have you been?" you started, your voice rough and hoarse.

"That's classified," Michael answered, his tone low and serious.

"That's classified," you mocked his voice in an exaggerated way. "You just say that when you don't want to answer shit, don't you? We deserve answers. I deserve answers, goddammit!" you shouted, slamming your fist down on the desk.

"That's not what this interview is about," Michael replied, his face as carefully neutral as a poker player.

"Cut this interview shit. There's no need for it given our history. Tell me what the fuck is going on here. You brought about the fucking apocalypse. Why?" you gritted out between clenched teeth.

"There's a plan in motion. Measures had to be taken. To bring about a new world, you have to start with a blank canvas, otherwise it's doomed to fail from the start," Michael explained. "I've been assigned to evaluate the people here and select the ones most worthy of survival."

"This is about the witches isn't it? You couldn't kill them all so you figured 'why not make the rest of the world pay for my incompetence? Surely that's a great idea! I'm a fucking idiot so why not kill seven billion people because I'm a miserable and pathetic fuck!'" you spat, your anger bubbling over the surface.

"Oh how I've missed you. I missed that fire in your eyes, the intensity in them. It's been far too long since I've seen it," Michael said, leaning in that much closer over the desk. His voice kept low, as if he suspected you two could be heard.

"Save it. I don't want to hear another word. I could fucking strangle you right now. You put me through hell, not to mention the whole fucking world! And for what? Did Satan finally acknowledge your sorry existence? Or is he still ignoring you? Because that would surely explain the mess that is this shithole!" you glowered at him, the magic within you crackling at your heightened emotional state, clawing within your throat. Your whole being was hardwired to resist the feeling of being prey.

"You haven't changed a bit, haven't you?" Michael chuckled darkly. "You're a lioness, so full of rage. It's what I've always admired about you, which is why I thought you would take some form of control in here, that you would make your fellow occupants your servants, that maybe you would even lead some active crusade to get everyone out of here just to spite me. You never needed to follow Ms. Venable's rules," he said, his voice like iron, not betraying his true feelings.

"I was far too drained. Nothing mattered. I just wanted to go back home! This place felt like hell. I thought I was being punished," you hissed, your jaw clenching in a poorly suppressed rage.

"Why did you believe you were being punished?" Michael asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"Because of you," you whispered, your stern eyes refusing to meet Michael's own intrusive stare. You could feel those icy blue eyes piercing through you. Your hot blood crawled beneath your skin as anger swelled in your chest.

"You thought God was punishing you?" he questioned, but the sound of his voice was nothing but teasing with an edge of mockery.

"I don't know. I don't know what I fucking believe. All I know is you ruined everything. You — You ruined everything and now my life is fucking over because of you!" you screamed, the sound tearing from your throat.

"Who said it's over?" Michael smirked, giving you a scrutinizing look.

"You're going to tell me what happens next, what the big plan is. Stop avoiding my questions. I'm not here for the 'interview'," you demanded. "Where are my friends and family? Are they still alive?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that information. Unfortunately, I can't inform you of what happens next, but I can tell you one thing. Your being here has served its purpose quite frankly, so no need to worry, you're getting out of here," Michael told you, his lips twisting into a smirk as his eyes danced with amusement.

"Don't tell me," you murmured dangerously.

"You're going to the Sanctuary, whether you like it or not. You'll be safe there, I assure you. It's stocked with enough supplies to last a decade so you can live comfortably," Michael explained.

"I'm not going there and you can't make me," you raised your voice, each word you spoke with an anger so potent that your voice became strained.

"It's only a matter of time before this place comes crumbling down. You're a survivor. You'll be able to adapt there easily. Besides, I'm going to need you and Ms. Mead to help me rebuild the new world. We'd be all together, again, just like old times," Michael told you.

"Just like old times?" you repeated. "You're fucking insane. I will have no part in this. I'm not going anywhere. You can't make me do anything."

Michael sat up from his chair by the desk and began to approach you slowly, and suddenly you felt like the prey to his predator.

"I know how lonely you've been. There's a deep sadness in your heart but it hasn't made you weak, no, it has only fueled your fire, it has made you realize that you can survive anything, that there's not a damn thing you can't overcome. You've harnessed your darkness and now you're sure you can do anything, you have a renewed purpose," he said simply. You could feel his eyes traveling up and down your body, which was covered in a skintight dark purple dress but suddenly you felt so exposed.

"Shut up," you spat. You hated when he did this, when he spoke as if he knew all the answers to questions you hadn't even thought to ask yourself.

"Perhaps you wished for me to be here; it's not entirely outside the realm of possibilities, don't you think? After all, we do have such a history together," he chuckled again when your cheeks flushed. "Would you say that's an accurate assumption, angel?" Michael asked, and the pet name turned to a degrading insult on his tongue.

"That is totally outside the realm of possibilities," you shot back.

"You still think about me all the time. Actually, I haven't left your mind since the last day we were together," he whispered, his voice a sensual murmur. As he made a full circle around you though, you began to realize that in that moment, you cared not for revenge or atonement from him; you simply wanted him to want you, to say it out loud and act on it.

Damn, you thought ruefully. _What power does he have over me_?

"That's not true. I never thought about you. You were dead to me. You are _dead_ to me," you corrected yourself. Heat washed over you, making you tremble, making your face flush and burn. You clenched your fists so hard that your nails bruised your palms.

Hurt flashed briefly across Michael's face. Your words had found their mark and left a wound, but quickly the pain was replaced with a mocking smirk. "You've let other men defile you, but they couldn't even get you off, so you were left feeling dissatisfied and frustrated. They could never please you and they didn't put your needs first. They could never measure up to what we had, not even close," Michael continued in that crisp, condescending and judgemental tone.

"You couldn't be more wrong," you said, your nose was scrunched up in disgust while your voice faded into nothing, but in the ensuing silence you sighed heavily, and it was a sigh you had felt many times before, when the weight of the whole world was pressing on your shoulders, pushing you down, and you had become utterly exhausted from carrying it around everywhere you went for so long.

You had every reason to resent Michael, and resent him you did. However, in the latest hours of the night, even as dawn would creep in, your head was always filled with the man you loathed. You were tormented by your past emotions that only seemed to deepen as time edged forward and your wounds healed. It was enraging how you discovered that the only thing that mended your wounds was the one who carelessly made them.

You began to think that your hate for Michael was much less powerful than whatever drove your head to evolve into an illicitly sweet intoxication.

He knew just how to get to you, giving just enough to draw you in, then taking and taking until you were utterly enraged with him. You wanted to express your still-present anger at him in hopes to get rid of some of the pain you were feeling and make him feel it instead. In his presence though, you reluctantly realized that your body was alive and singing, waiting for him. It was a perverse back and forth that you two shared, and you savored it as much as you hated it.

"You have touched yourself to the thought of me, more times than you could ever count, it's the only way you can find release, even after all this time. You've done it here numerous times, having to bite your tongue and stay as silent as possible in case one of your roommates heard, or Ms. Venable. You felt a rush to it until the shame washed over you. You didn't want to admit it to yourself, so you lied and lied until night fell, where you could bask in the darkness and let yourself come undone. You were thinking of seeking me out because the need was becoming unbearable but I beat you to it, or rather the end of the world did. You had to convince yourself that you hated me because otherwise the guilt would be consuming, it was your coping mechanism, your safe place, so you could sleep at night," Michael explained almost nonchalantly. He stopped behind you and stood, towering, looking down at you, a hair's breadth away.

"Stop it! Just shut up! None of that is true. I fucking hate you," you hissed, denying his accusations and standing your ground.

"Even with the current state of the world, you'd give anything just to lay with me one more time, and then some," he murmured, his sensual voice drawled in your ear, the warm breath washing over your neck as it spoke.

"That's it!" you growled and spun around on your feet to slap him or burn him, or hurt him in some way but then you felt an arm around your waist, the other hand grabbing your wrist, and as you were turned, you found yourself once again face to face with those piercing blue eyes. It knocked you off balance and you tried to move back in retaliation but you were kept in place with his hold on you.

"Let go of me!" you yelled, unable to govern the violet emotions he produced in you.

A smile completely devoid of humor lifted the corners of his lips without ever touching his cold eyes. "The rules of the interview is that you can't lie to me, and you're doing exactly that. You haven't forgotten that I can see into your dark places, have you? I know everything you desperately want to keep hidden. Every thought, every secret, every feeling you tried to repress," he taunted you with a click of his tongue.

"If you know exactly what I'm thinking then you already know that I want to fucking kill you," you shot back, your voice hard, and your eyes even harder as they bore into his. You physically trembled from the malice that built inside of you and the corners of your lips twitched in annoyance. Maddened, you tried to free your wrist from his hold and his lip only curled in contempt at the attempt.

Michael even uttering anything could set your nerves on fire. Though, Michael's voice still produced the same reaction in your chest, but you realized (although you did not want to) that the fire had morphed into some other incandescence. You still wanted to bury your hands into the tightly threaded material of his impeccably fitted black turtleneck, but now it was for a different reason than to find a way to exert the frustration you felt burning in the pit of your throat. The pounding in your head made your senses a little blurred, but it nonetheless amplified the lack of awareness and control you had over your own emotions.

"I'd like to see you try. But how would you ever get to the Sanctuary without me to take you there?" Michael asked, his eyes narrowed and he gave a condescending smile as he inched toward you. There was mocking delight on his face, eyebrows raised, and it infuriated you all the more.

"I don't even want to go there," you whispered and felt your breath mingle with his own. You were frustrated with yourself for playing along with whatever game Michael had created—if this even was a game—the entire time, and it felt as though history was repeating itself, reverting to the beginning. You were enemies, again. Distanced by hatred, envy, and revenge.

"Oh but you do. You're curious. You want to know what it's like, to see it for yourself. You're willing to take your chances. You want a shot at salvation. And who could blame you? You're tired. You don't know if you have it in you to spend another week in here. Your patience is running thin, and you're smart enough to know you can't go out there all by yourself, you wouldn't last a day. You've been itching to get out of here. And even if the others don't make it, well, you could live with that. You've been surrounded by death, even before all of this unraveled before you. You're used to it. You've endured and survived through the worst of it. Grieving has become a mere inconvenience to you," he surmised. He looked at you head-on with those blue eyes and those eyelashes that were long and thick and made to be envied.

"No, I'll take my chances here. You're dumber than I thought if you truly believe I'm going anywhere with you," you said, a capricious thrill of satisfaction filling you. His gaze was all at once hard and distant. You had managed to get under his skin. Good. Michael remained silent, his face like steel. He glanced down at you, and his eyes seemed to be searching your gaze, as if to gauge your reaction. The back-and-forth trading of threats and insults had always been a regular occurrence between the two of you since the very beginning and now you were both back to your old ways.

His lips parted for a moment and he didn't say a word. You two were still holding the other's gaze — it was a contest of wills, no doubt about it, and you had no intention of losing another battle tonight.

Your eyes settled on each other for endless moments, and an uncomfortable silence fell on you two. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke you both.

"Is that so? Hmm, you and I both know there was a time that you would have done anything for me. I could merely snap my fingers and you'd come running," he said, his words were low, dangerously so, but he managed a crisp delivery.

"I regret that. I regret everything. I can't believe I ever thought you could be saved, that there was even a semblance of anything remotely good in your heart. I know now you don't even have one. There was never any hope for you. You're going to get what's coming to you. You won't win," you told him bitterly. Subconsciously, you were aware that it was your own pride that drove the fire in your veins, your own incapability at strengthening your weakest defense. You did scold yourself for being like this, but you saw the exact same ferocity—if not the same steely hardness—driven into Michael's stare as well, and the thought that you two were the same flitted past your mind for the barest second.

"No, you don't. You wish that you could turn back time, do it all over again, in hopes of everything turning out differently. If you had a chance to make it happen, you would take it, no questions asked. You've thought it over, again and again in your head. You've missed me. You've missed what we had, and you want it back," he said with a calculating stare.

"No, I don't. I would never," you grimaced, and it was all you could muster between your clenched teeth. Your chest deflated in an exhale so ragged that it caused you a sharp pain. A dart of resentment pricked through your daze in response, and you tried to twist away from him, but his grip was firm.

"Then why, angel? Why does the very thought of it make your heart ache with what could have been?" he asked as he tilted his head slightly.

Your glare shifted back and forth from his chest to his parted lips. The deadly silence that overwhelmed the room cornered you until your answer would escape your lips.

"I don't know," you admitted. As you spoke, your anger subsided and the last two words fell almost silent on your tongue.

It was as if saying those words aloud restricted you to a greater confinement of the mind. You could feel beads of sweat running down your face as a new silence approached you two.

Shaking, half-dizzy with conflicting emotions which tore you one way and another, you snapped. "I despise you."

Michael met your gaze, watching you intensely. The depths of those eyes were always indecipherable to you.

"I despise you. I hate you. You are the very cause for the lifetime of despair and pain I am burdened with," you told him, you were seething with hatred now, but your words somehow did not match the almost softening look in your eyes. "I just want to leave," you were choking on your rage.

"Why am I sensing a 'but' somewhere in that sentence?" Michael replied, feigning innocence, all the while a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, satisfied in the knowledge that he had succeeded in his attempts to rile you. It had always been a certain type of tug-of-war between you two, beginning with a wish to outdo one another.

"There's no 'but'. You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you denied. You bit down on your lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, to keep yourself from trembling. "I want nothing more than to see you suffer. You took my best friend away from me. You took my whole life away. My own home! I lost everything because of you. I hate you for deceiving me and for leaving me to kill my sisters, for going down this dark and horrible path, and for coming into my life and ruining everything!"

A low noise rose in the back of your throat, breaking the slightly gasp-like breaths you were taking.

Your lips parted, and your gaze involuntarily dropped to his mouth. He saw, he understood, and the grin that spread over his face made you want to kill him...

Yet you could feel your body betraying you, just as you'd always been afraid it might, if left too long alone and in close quarters with Michael.

How was it possible that a man could provoke such contradictory passions, one extreme as burning hot as the other?

Michael said nothing, his arms reached out and grasped your head. His fingers brushed against your neck as his thumb pressed to your cheek bone. It was an oddly gentle action. You were not giving him a push just quite yet, and so Michael was pulling and pulling, letting out breaths of wonder and thinking he could make you into something else simply from a pair of lips and a hand. But this was who Michael was, baiting and calculating and biding, and you were finally in that place where Michael knew you had become vulnerable, a sickly sweet spot of pride and a disposition of eagerness that made you all the more irritated. With a swift movement, he closed the space between you two and smashed his lips against your own in a hasty, unpracticed kiss.

The meeting of your lips was harsh, smashed together as noses clashed as the hand at the back of your head pressed you unbelievably close and tight. His tongue pushed its way into your mouth and you, God help you, could not keep from responding. A moan slipped from your throat and you pressed your body against his, having only moments ago wished him dead.

You gasped, sucking in air, and all of what you inhaled was just Michael, sick and honeyed and disgustingly addicting. His chin was damp, lips pink and coated with saliva, and even though you were grating your fingernails into the back of Michael's head, the way Michael's palm and fingers were curling over the side of your neck bode some sort of unnamed gentleness that was quite characteristic of Michael himself — also another reason why you were just drawn to him even despite the supposedly imposing image he carried with him.

You had become so angry at the fact that no matter how hard you shoved Michael, no matter how bitter and scathing your words and looks were, Michael had a deathly consistent layer to his disposition that contrasted sharply with what you believed you built yourself upon — strength, force, sincerity, and then suddenly there was Michael pressing his mouth against yours with a vigor that stole the breath from your lungs. It was something you wanted to call disgusting and twist the offending wrist and force Michael to finally, properly, fight you, but your efforts were always lost every time, and then you soon found yourself spinning into an abyss of drunken arrogance as you tried to press Michael away by a hand around his throat, although that never worked because your own self-obedience otherwise was frail in the hands of someone you wholeheartedly hated but simply couldn't draw yourself away from.

Michael, to you, was like an addiction. There was so much separating you two that had been there from the beginning and manifested into your own head by yourself.

You moaned against his lips and lifted your arm to press against Michael's chest. Your fingers felt the heavy pulse beneath the fabric of his turtleneck and you pulled away from the kiss to pull the material over his head with trembling hands. Your eyes were shut so tightly that your lashes fluttered uncontrollably.

Suddenly, you found yourself thrown a few feet back by the same hand that held you close mere seconds ago. You paused to catch your breath, feeling your heartbeat pounding in your ears from the adrenaline of lust and anger. There was no barrier between you two now. You approached him with an unmistakable fury in your glare, however there was something more that hid beneath your gaze that Michael faintly recognized.

He stepped forward to meet your embrace. Your lips met in an open mouthed kiss as your hands groped each other. Michael's fingers dug into your hips, wrenching your body closer as your kisses deepened and your tongues found one another. Your hand ran through his long, soft strands of hair until your palm grasped the back of his neck and you pulled back from the kiss.

You faced each other once again, you were staring at him, both in irritation and anticipation, every breath hot and heavy as your chests rose and fell on opposite patterns.

Your hand moved to pull at Michael's chest, pushing him back far enough until his back met a wall. And your lips once again met with the intensity of a thousand years of anticipation for the other's intimate company.

Only moans and quiet gasps echoed through the room as the darkness crept in. Candles burned silently as you two shared heated kisses. With Michael's back pressed against the wall, you found that you possessed the advantage. Your own head lowered down to his neck, and your teeth met the flesh with a passionate kiss. You breathed in deep, taking in his scent which you regretted to admit that you missed.

The scent of Michael seemed so nostalgic that you felt as if you were back to what was now over four years ago, when you two were together, sharing the same bed, sharing each other's warmth, cherishing every moment.

Michael's hands drifted up your clothed body, searching for places to dig his fingers underneath the cloth to remove it. He moved quickly to expose your chest and abdomen. His fingers traced the muscles down until his fingertips dug themselves under the waistband of your panties.

With a shaky gasp, you broke the chain of kisses you had left on Michael's neck. Your eyes met, and you noticed one of his hands hovered above your left shoulder. Those fingers just barely tapped the shoulder blade, tracing from your clavicle. He wanted to feel you all over again, every part of you, it had been so long and he was so touch-starved he could barely help himself.

Michael sunk his teeth down into the dip of your throat, and you almost yanked Michael's head backwards to a painful angle. You wanted to shove Michael off of you with a fist gripping and digging into his skin, but Michael's weight on top of you was just too much, too hot and heavy and the edges of your vision were blurred just like the strength in your limbs and the grip you got on the reins to your own hands and feet.

If there were marks tomorrow on your decolletage, then so be it, you thought — you would just make sure Michael looked as disheveled as you did. It was only fair.

He was quick to remove your purple dress and allowed the material to fall to the floor. Your soft and supple skin presented itself to him and he relished in the sight. You paused, allowing your breaths to catch up to you. Your mouth formed a firm grimace as your brows furrowed up. Michael stood motionless, his icy stare never faltering. Your fingertips itched as they awaited Michael's touch.

"This does not mean that I will ever forgive you," you stated, your eyes fell to the ground simply to avoid Michael's discerning stare.

His head gradually bowed until his lips met with your skin and he disclosed with a breathless sigh, "I know."

You shuddered, allowing your pent-up emotions to escape your lips through hot, shallow breaths. Michael wrapped both of his arms around your waist and guided the two of you down until your back met the mattress of the bed in his room. There was an assortment of differently shaped and patterned feathered pillows and the sort, however you refused to reach for any. Instead, you laid there upon the sheets and simply felt Michael above you.

Your mouths met in a forceful, almost unpleasant, kiss. Layers of clothes were carelessly spread along the floor beneath you two until both of you laid entirely exposed.

Your heavy breaths steadied as your gaze met those of an icy blue. You despised those eyes more than anything, yet somehow you found yourself lost in the reflection of them. You tried to recall a time so long ago when those eyes were comforting, when the intensity of them gleamed softly rather than fueled by resentment and selfish aspirations.

Even as that stare haunted you — you could never look away.

The many candles that burned as your only source of light in the dusk vividly illuminated your skin tones as you two collided.

Michael ran his hands down your body, over your breasts, down over the swell of your hips. Dimly in your mind, you knew you should resist, should try to leave, but the way he handled you precluded rational thought. You took leave of your mind and resided in your body, in feeling and sensation.

The warmth of his body felt so foreign yet so familiar. Your hand moved against every flexing muscle of his arms and abdomen simply to take in the sensation of his skin. The tips of your fingers grazed over every bit of flesh and your lips met desperately in a passionate kiss. He devoured you with no care and no gentleness. You felt his touch on your stomach, trailing down between your thighs to the place he'd made wet and hot, cupping you there.

This was really going to happen. How could you want a man dead, yet want him inside you, making you come?

But did you really want to see him dead? Had you ever? Or was that your mind's ultimate, inarguable effort to convince yourself that you didn't want him?

Yet he could infuriate you like no one else.

A deep groan escaped the back of your throat as you felt him palm the exposed area between your thighs.

Michael could have sworn he'd heard his own name escape from your lips as he continued to grope you. He knew that based on the way your teeth gnawed at your lower lip, how your legs writhed against his waist, and how the muscles of your abdomen trembled with anticipation that he could definitely expect to hear his name.

He whispered your name back.

The sensation of the warm breath that whispered the syllables of your own name brushing against his lips brought you to furiously tighten your grasp on the back of Michael's neck as if silently begging for more.

"I have wanted you for so long," the calm voice continued. Admitting it aloud was strange to hear and strange to say, although there was nothing but truth laced in each of those words.

His strong hand still intensely stroked you, making it hard to breathe. You clenched your teeth as the voice trailed down to your neck and pressed open mouthed kisses against the hot skin. Your body was shocked by a wild thrill, centered between your legs, which flashed heat all over.

You closed your eyes, the words on your lips glazed, the fire that had lit them previously calming, and you felt your fingertips skating over his collar. Your cheeks flushed as you ran your fingers absentmindedly through Michael's hair — he was going too slowly, you thought, and this was typical of Michael, taking his time as he does so with everything, not just the activities under the spectrum of undressing you. But the firm press of a pair of lips right in the dip between your clavicles let you know that Michael was still there, and he really was just taking his sweet time — maybe trying to tease a reaction out of you, but the rub of your fingertips against Michael's scalp was a warning, telling him to hurry up.

The curve of Michael's lips into a smile told you that he got the message. He tilted his head up, and you, noticing the shift opened your eyes, glancing down.

The way Michael's lips curled was vaguely cat-like. He dipped his head down, only breaking eye contact at the very last moment. The sink of the blunt of his teeth into your skin, right over the hollow of your upper chest, was slow, deliberate, and the breath you let out at that moment was more of an uneven huff, diaphragm rising and falling.

Michael smoothed over the dents he made with a languid stroke of his tongue, and your skin sheened slightly with a thin layer of saliva.

When you lifted your head a bit more, you saw that there was an angry red blossoming right over the indentations, their edges mottled as the blood beneath your skin bloomed.

"I hate you," you growled lowly and Michael simply laughed. You yanked Michael's hair, dragging him up to meet your lips together, biting at his lower lip only to be interrupted with a thumb pressing into the dip of your neck. Michael took the opportunity to properly slide his tongue between your lips.

There was drool on both of your chins, the saliva shared between you two slipping out of the corner of your mouths as you recovered and you were back to trying to test Michael's will. If your knees weren't pinned down by Michael's weight, you would have raised a leg and tried to flip him over, but now Michael was digging his teeth into your mouth as a hand played with your hair.

"I swear, I'm going to leave," you started, your lips mouthing the words into the corner of Michael's mouth, but Michael just kissed across your cheek until his breath reached your ear. Your jaw tightened with anger — anger focused so greatly toward Michael for so long, even in these moments of passion. But it was an anger that was truly reserved for yourself in the days and evenings you spent with your thoughts always trailing back to the man you loathed — to the man you longed for.

"And where exactly would you go?" he asked, a teasing lilt in his voice, sliding the tip of his tongue into the shell of your ear. "Home?"

Michael's breath was boiling, racking shivers up and down your body, but you bit down and tried to stifle the reaction. The warmth of his tongue slid down to your neck, and all you could hear for a moment was the slightly slickened noise of its movements along with Michael's breathing, magnified by his close proximity and the rushing of blood through your veins. "You can't exactly bring me to your home, now can you?"

You were about to retort, your fingers digging into Michael's nape. The words in your throat were stifled slightly, as Michael's pulled at the thin skin beneath your ear with his teeth, and you could practically feel the bruising beginning to blossom. You hissed — it was almost painful with the way Michael was now raking his teeth down the side of your neck, and you instinctively threw your head to the side.

You wanted him to take you.

And he did.

Michael's blood stained hands pulled at your thighs to align your pelvises and your bodies ground together in rough, powerful motions. Your breath was hot against his ear and the sound of your voice leaving your tongue in desperate words fueled the passion that drove Michael inside of you.

Your back, drenched in warm beads of sweat, arched as Michael moved heavy on top of you.

Michael leaned in, pressing the tip of his erection against your clit. You moved back on your elbows and took in a long, ragged breath, biting your lip, loving the friction.

You lifted your pelvis and pressed closer, your body thrumming with desire.

Your eyes, glassy and red, blinked up at him from where your head rested in the pillow when he positioned himself in the cradle of your legs. He started up slowly, testing angles and strokes, until he found the one that made you clench your nails into his biceps.

Again and again, seconds flitting past.

You reached up behind you to grip the headboard, bearing down against his movements, low moans stirring deep in your throat. You shivered each time he pushed into you, the ridge of his pubic bone riding along your clit, and he watched as you tried to keep your eyes open.

It was wet and hot, and the sound of the suction of your hips meeting and parting filled the room. The love bites that he left earlier had blossomed along your collarbones and up the carved lines of your neck, and color rose on your cheeks as he pushed you higher and higher.

He was murmuring your name over and over again, and you arched towards him. The minutes ticked by faster, marked by sweat slipping between your bodies and you could hear his own answering grunts and half-formed words. Faster, harder, each thrust reverberating through your bodies, arousal echoing louder and louder between you two.

Both breathing heavily, the tempo increased, heat flaring. You looked up at him, his eyes darkened by pupils blasted wide with lust, his long blonde locks spilling onto his shoulders. You reached up and combed his own hair back from where it had fallen over his forehead, skirting your fingers through his hair to the back of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

Dropping down onto his elbows, he bracketed your head with his forearms before pressing his lips to yours, moving faster and harder still, challenging you to keep up, keep breathing, even as his tongue parted your lips and slid against yours.

One hand tightening in his hair, the other skating, shakily, down to the small of his back, nails curling in against his skin, you complied, and his thoughts began to scatter, revealing baser needs to feel––the coiling muscle of your abdomen against his, your skin under his hands, your hair between his fingers, your soft form shuddering powerfully as he moved between your legs, his tongue in your mouth.

He sets to the task of overwhelming you––and only pulled back from your mouth when the legs wrapped around his waist began to tremble. You looked up at him, eyes wide and helpless, ragged cries (high and tight and the kind that told him you were almost there) escaping of your own volition through your parted lips.

Lifting himself up higher on his knees, he pushed one of your legs off him, pinning it wide. Your fingernails bit into his neck and he ground your hips together, flexing inside you, making your muscles clench down on his erection. Whimpering, you bared your neck to him, using the one leg still wrapping around him to lever yourself sharply against him.

He fucked you as if your lives depended on it––hard, deep thrusts, plunging in and almost out of you, which pushed you against the bed. His breath came in desperate grunts, and you cried out each time he drove into your body, parting it, possessing it.

You kept with him until his rhythm picked up to a more terminal pace, until all you could do was hold fast to him. He turned his face to kiss your cheek, the tears trickling from the corner of your eyes.

He kept you there, at the edge of release, until the soft pleas leaving your lips devolved into dry sobs and you began to shake under him at the exertion. Your fingernails tore into him, your hands scrabbling from his back to his arms to his shoulders. Biting your lower lip, your eyes stayed on his the entire time as you tried to give as good as he was.

Michael thought you were beautiful and he told you, over and over, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jawline, feeling his own imminent climax, the muscles in his lower back and thighs beginning to lock up and he buried his face in your hair.

Rambling incoherent streams of words in between his uneven breaths, he felt you bite down on his shoulder, crying in pleasured agony.

"That's it," he managed to get out, trying not to come before you. Your name sounded so perfect on his tongue. Sweat trickled down his body as he furiously pounded into you. The pleasure was rising swiftly to a peak now, and you chased it, rising to rotate your hips so that his shaft found your most sensitive place. Small gasps fell from your bitten and bruised lips, courtesy of Michael, as the friction built.

Letting go of the leg pinned to the mattress, he slid a hand between you two, his thumb rubbing wide circles over the bundle of nerves at the apex of your folds. "That's it."

You both had savored every sensation that flowed between you two. You dedicated to memory the deep scent of one another, the feeling of slick skin, the way your lips tenderly and angrily folded against each other's and the way it brought you two back to the days that seemed so long ago now. You two welcomed the sensations that caused your groans to echo and your thighs to seize.

"Fuck," you stuttered out, your body slackened for a moment, before tightening your limbs around him and knees pressing in almost painfully into his sides, you threw your head back, sobbing in relief. Jerking his hips into you, your breasts pressed against his chest and let out satisfied cries in his ear, and the clenching of your inner walls around him made his own orgasm follow moments later.

Sweating and spent, you two disentangled yourselves from one another. You slid to the opposite direction of him. Neither of you said a word to each other. You shut your eyes, not wanting to look at him any longer.

Candles became melted down into piles of wax as the bright flames finally deserted their wicks and the room gradually succumbed to the darkness of night and spent weariness dragged you into a deep slumber.

It was not until much later that you finally woke, painfully stiff from the resting position you found yourself in. You didn't know what time it was and there was no clock around in the room that told you.

Alone.

Without even a whisper of his departure.

You slowly adjusted yourself and you turned to the wall with a pensive expression on your face as you gathered your thoughts.

You reflected on the night — expecting to feel anger and shame. Yet all you seemed to feel in that moment, as your gaze averted to your own clothes and as your trembling breath caught in your throat and released a calm sigh, was relief that Michael had finally left the room.


	18. Take Me Back to the Start

Blood. Blood and vomit.

Those were the first things you saw and smelled when you left Michael's room. It was fresh, too. There were so many bodies scattered about the floor, covered in their own puke.

With panic and apprehension asphyxiating you, your dry lips parted as you let out a deep breath. The dull, orange tint spilled onto the floorboards coming from the chandelier and the flames of the fireplace behind you. The room had become a complete mess and looked nothing like the organized chaos it had appeared to be before. You found chewed up apples next to their bodies. You were quick to realize that they were poisoned by poisonous apples. They ate from the forbidden tree.

There was a bite to the air that gave you goosebumps. Your muscles locked in your body, your breath catching in your throat as the icy cold hands of fear gripped your heart.

The overwhelming stench of blood and vomit filled your nostrils and it caused you to scrunch your nose as you walked around the room.

They were all gone. Dead. Maybe there was something you could have done. Maybe there was nothing you could have done. Either way, you let it happen. You thought there would be more time. That was all it felt like in this place, that the inevitable was being prolonged, but now everyone was gone. It was too late. You were too late.

Blood painted the floor, vomit drooling from their opened mouths and their lifeless eyes stared out into nothingness. The crimson looked orange as the lights glowed through stains. The stench made you take a step back, making your body tremble violently.

For someone typically in control of the most minute details of self, both in body and mind, you found yourself quite literally shaken.

There was a sharp burning that spread through your chest, your breath leaving you in a sharp huff. Though, you didn't cry. It was as if you were far too numb to. You had seen so much death, more than you ever have since your arrival here, you were practically surrounded by it at all times.

You felt an incendiary pounding in your head as your heart plummeted wildly against your rib cage. All this death and destruction. And for what?

The overpowering smell of everything made you become nauseated, the feeling building up and clawing at your throat. You were shuttering, shaking like a leaf as your stomach tightened.

You must have stared at the scene for a while but after what felt like an eternity, you willed yourself to move towards their dead bodies.

You found Gallant's body, his short white-blonde strands stuck to his forehead. The strands were tinted crimson and stiff, dried against his skin, his head leaned back.

His eyes were rolled back slightly in his skull, irises a dull brown; life stripped from them. There was still vomit oozing from his mouth as it poured onto the floor.

A violent shiver ran through your body as your hands twitched at your sides and a wave of hopelessness washed over you.

You crouched down by his body, grabbing his wrist as you pressed your middle and index finger onto the cold skin. You couldn't feel anything, not a single pulse, no sign of life. You swallowed down a gasp that wanted to escape and ended up choking on it.

You took in a deep breath to regain some sense of control. You had to calm down. To focus.

A distorted rhapsody of grating, desperate voices combined with repulsive, bloodcurdling screeching and comprising broken pleas shakily unfurled in your subconscious.

Then you caught vivid flashes of what happened to everyone. Wilhemina and Miriam had poisoned the apples with venom from the snakes and fed them to everyone. They thought it was a reward, a gift from the Sanctuary, little did they know they were eating a piece of the forbidden fruit. You caught glimpses of Dinah and Mallory who had eaten the apples too but their bodies weren't here.

The body was still limp as you gently set his hand back down on the ground.

The hurricane in your heart slowed to a steady stream of ice. It was still just as volatile, but at least it gave you the illusion that you were in control. This much you could stand. The icy stream stirring in your heart echoed throughout your body, allowing your fingertips and toes to reprieve from constant shaking. Another few breaths calmed your lips from their previously erratic behavior.

You sensed a powerful presence from upstairs, it was several powerful presences, actually. There could be no mistake. It had to be them. Your coven. Your sisters. Though, you wondered if you could even call them that anymore.

You headed upstairs, going to the direction in which you felt it. You could hear muffled voices echoing back to you but you weren't able to distinguish what they were saying.

You were running towards the door at the corner of the corridor and that was when you heard it.

The sound of a gun being fired. Over and over again, without missing a beat. You halted in your tracks for a moment as a sharp shock of fear shot up your spine. Your heartbeat thundered frantically in your ears and a shudder wracked its way through the weighty lump in your throat. A wail threatened to pour out but you successfully stifled it to a mere whimper. You got a bad feeling. A really bad one.

You pushed open the door once you reached the room and worry creased your face, your heart stuttering.

There was more blood.

So much blood.

The first thing you saw was Michael's body on the floor, a puddle of crimson underneath him, his head against the wall. Blood was sprayed everywhere, on the walls, on the ground, and on his skin. He was splattered and smeared with nothing but red, blood was soaking through his clothes. Your eyes were so blurry with tears that you could hardly see his face but you were sure it was him. A sharp gasp escaped your lips and you felt your stomach jump up into your throat. You could feel a throbbing pain in your chest as dread washed over you, your body trembling in response, but you were powerless to do anything about it, the fear showing in nothing but the elevated breathing and the widening of your eyes. Sorrow and despair clenched your heart.

Dinah's lifeless body on the floor, her neck had been cut open and crimson was clinging to her clothing, she was practically bathed in it. Miriam's head had been blown off, it landed next to Michael, and there was fragments of her robotic body scattered around the room but you didn't see any of it. You only saw Michael.

Tears flitted at the corners of your eyes. That was when you finally started to cry. Your heart felt like it was cracking in your chest, falling to pieces at the sight of seeing him in such a state.

No, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening.

You needed to see if he was still breathing, if he was still alive, you couldn't lose him, too, but then...

"You..."

A stern voice spoke.

Your whole focus was on Michael that your brain didn't even register that the witches were standing in the center of the room; Coco, Cordelia, Madison, Mallory, Marie, and Myrtle.

"You traitor," Cordelia spoke.

Suddenly Cordelia, your Supreme, was charging towards you and the moment your eyes met her fiery glare, you were slapped across the face. Your head whipped back from the shock and pain of it. Your cheek was throbbing but you didn't even make an attempt to soothe it. You allowed it to happen. You deserved it.

"We welcomed you into the academy, we were there for you when you were just finding your bearings, we cared for you like you were one of us," Cordelia spat, venom dripping in her every word. "And the whole time you were sleeping with the enemy. You were the daughter of that Satanic lowlife. You lied to us. You betrayed your sisters. Your coven."

"Yeah, it would have been helpful to know that you were fraternizing with the literal fucking Antichrist! Oh and that your mother was the one who took him in and you were all living under the same roof! Who else recalls the family emergencies?" Madison spoke up, her hands clenching on a machine gun as she grimaced at you.

"How could you could do that to us?" Mallory asked, her voice soft and timid as she frowned.

"We trusted you, dear. You showed true potential. You were becoming an essential part to this coven," Myrtle chimed in.

"Was everything a lie? I thought I could trust you. We thought we could trust you!" Coco said, a scowl on her face. "You were supposed to be a part of our family. Oh and yeah, I'm up to speed with everything. I know who you are and what you did," Coco added, pointing at you.

Your breath danced between rapid fire short inhalations and deeper lengthier ones failing in their attempt to return you to a calmer state. It felt like they were all taking turns stabbing you in the heart, but surely, it wouldn't bleed as much as the wounds they were opening now. They were right. You betrayed them. You betrayed your sisters. Was it worth it? You wished you could take it all back.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Cordelia hissed, staring you down with a piercing glower.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," you whispered around a choked sob. You didn't want her to feel sorry for you. You didn't expect her to, either, but it was all you could manage to get out. You could hardly will your voice to speak.

"Apologies aren't going to cut it," Cordelia told you bitterly.

"How did you find out?" you asked meekly.

"It doesn't matter how we found out. The point is we did and now Mallory has to undo the chaos he has created, all the death and destruction, everything. She can fix this," Cordelia said.

Coco raised her hand. "I'm the one that found out. I'm the danger detector! I think I deserve some credit for that, thank you very much."

Yeah, that was right. She watched you as you left the academy and you had ignored her on your way out. You wondered if she had followed you that day.

"You're a totally different kind of twisted. Those family emergencies? More like 'sorry everyone, I need to excuse myself to fuck the Antichrist!" Madison shot back in a vexed tone.

"The only reason why we let you get away is because Mallory begged us to show you mercy. She pitied you. She believed that it wasn't your fault the Devil got in your head. And maybe she's right. Maybe it isn't your fault. Maybe you have just fallen victim to his sick games. Maybe he made you an offer you couldn't refuse. I don't know, but you could have warned us about him. Your coven is supposed to come first no matter what. You learned that the first day you were welcomed into the academy," Cordelia told you, her voice was calm but it was like iron at the same time.

"And no sorry excuse for a man is supposed to come between us," Myrtle added with disappointment in her tone.

You swallowed a lump in your throat, willing your emotions to still. To freeze over. To become like ice.

"Michael killed our sisters. He entered the academy and murdered them in cold blood. He erased their spirits from existence. There was nothing left of them. I tried to bring them back but I couldn't. I had to place an identity spell on Coco and Mallory for their protection. I had to do that because of him. If you think he gives a damn about you, you're wrong. He's the spawn of Satan. He brought about the end of the world. He only cares about himself. He's not capable of loving you," Cordelia said bluntly, gazing back into your eyes with an unrelenting solemn look.

So that was why Coco and Mallory couldn't remember you. They were placed under an identity spell.

"Your boy toy is a fucking lunatic! You can't save him. I don't care how heavenly that dick is, it's not worth it. It's not worth the end of the world!" Madison swore, shooting daggers at you.

"I'm sorry. I messed up. I let you and our sisters down. I wish I could take it back," you whispered, your voice faltering.

"Fortunately for you, you can take it back. We don't have much time, we have to make our move, now, so no more feeling sorry for yourself. What you can do now is help us bring him down and protect Mallory like she protected you," Cordelia told you.

He wasn't dead.

Though, with the way Cordelia was speaking, you were sure you were going to lose him for good.

Myrtle walked over to Michael's body and plucked a strand of his hair from his head while he was still powerless to do anything about it.

Myrtle placed the strand of hair in Mallory's hands, "A personal item. Remember, dear, focus on it. Use it to locate a time and place early in Michael's life."

"Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm. Place myself there and say the words. Tempus Infinituum," Mallory recited, rising to her feet with determination.

"Bullets alone won't stop him. He's become too powerful. We have to find a place to cast the spell before he wakes up," Cordelia urged, her breath heavy.

"I'll hold him off as long as I can," Madison told Cordelia.

Cordelia smiled softly at Madison and cupped her cheeks with both hands. Cordelia was proud of her.

"You've got this," Coco assured Mallory.

You, Myrtle, and Cordelia started running upstairs, heading straight to the halls, but Mallory was ahead of you three. Though, Mallory's blind sprint was interrupted when a man plunged a knife in her stomach all of a sudden.

"I should have been on that plane!" the man yelled, who was Coco's ex-boyfriend, Brock. When he ripped the blade from her body, Mallory was knocked back against the wall before she collapsed, blood filling and pouring from her mouth as tears trickled from her eyes and down her cheeks.

You and Cordelia knelt down to her, trying to stop the bleeding while Myrtle lit the man on fire and burned him alive, in turn making him fall off the balcony to his inevitable death.

Cordelia closed her eyes as she started to cast a spell, "Balneum infinitum."

But Mallory was becoming weaker and weaker. She was losing too much blood. Cordelia wasn't giving up but her eyes were full of panic and worry and dread creased the features on her face. She continued to try and cast the healing spell on Mallory but she was starting to lose hope.

"He's coming!" Marie ran up and shouted. "Get her out of here!"

Michael was awake.

Cordelia and Myrtle dragged Mallory's body along the floor, her eyes were rolling in the back of her head, she was losing consciousness.

You could hear Marie casting a voodoo spell, buying you three time as you led Mallory in a room. She and Coco were tasked with holding Michael off, to the best of their ability, but you knew that wouldn't last long. He was much stronger than them, much stronger than all of you.

You, Cordelia, and Myrtle were chanting, "Balenum infinitum. Dona salui conductus. Dona salui conductus. Balenum infinitum. Dona salui conductus," as Mallory was laid in a circular bath tub. Though as you all continued, Mallory's light was fading from her eyes. She was unresponsive.

Cordelia held Mallory's face in her hands as she begged her, "Come on, Mallory, please. Please Mallory, you can do this. Listen to me, look at me, you can do this."

Mallory was still clenching onto the strand of Michael's hair with the little strength she had left, but she was fading away.

"It's not working. It's not working! She's not strong enough," Cordelia wailed, her voice breaking.

"I'm so sorry, Cordelia," Mallory managed to get out weakly.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," Cordelia repeated. "Look at me. No, no, no, no. Please, come on," Cordelia continued but Mallory's eyes were fluttering shut. She was dying.

Cordelia looked up at Myrtle, her face crumbling as her eyes filled with tears.

You wished you could have done something, but there was nothing you could have done. If Cordelia, your Supreme, was at a complete loss of what to do, if she didn't have the answers, then it was truly an impossible situation.

"Mallory, don't close your eyes. Stay with us," you murmured brokenly, your hand on her shoulder. "Please, stay awake. You can fight this."

"It appears as though we're fucked, my dear," Myrtle commented grimly. Mallory wasn't going to make it.

Cordelia was looking to Myrtle for guidance, but she was feeling just as hopeless as her.

But then you noticed Cordelia's expression of utter hopelessness had changed to something of a quiet acceptance, her face had softened somewhat as she said, "I love you," to Myrtle.

That was when she stood up and left the room in a hurry.

"What is she doing?" you asked Myrtle.

Myrtle didn't answer you. You didn't think she knew either. She walked outside of the room to watch what was unfolding and to find out what Cordelia was planning.

You heard Michael's voice, loud and clear.

"How did you think this would end? Prophecy is inevitable. I was always going to win, Miss Supreme," Michael said, addressing Cordelia in contempt.

You could hear Cordelia and Michael going at it, she was belittling him with cruel remarks, scorning him mercilessly.

"Satan has one son, but my sisters are legion, motherfucker," Cordelia declared, right before stabbing herself in the heart.

"Cordelia!" Myrtle cried out in sheer agony as she watched Cordelia sacrifice herself for her coven.

Your heart sank and tears welled up in your eyes once more.

The second Cordelia had pierced her heart, Mallory awoke with a jolt, a thick gasp escaping her lips.

"Mallory!" you called out, your hands were upon her shoulders as you gazed at her, unadulterated relief spread across your face. "You're awake."

The water in the tub started sloshing around her as she awakened. Mallory exhaled, breath coming out hot and dissipating in the air.

This was it. Mallory was the Supreme. Cordelia had to fall in order for her to rise. Mallory was your Supreme, now.

Mallory was about to cast the spell to travel back in time to prevent the apocalypse from ever occurring, it would undo everything. Michael was going to die. She was going to kill him. That was what her coven instructed her to do.

You couldn't lose Michael.

"Mallory, before you do anything, please listen to me," you started.

"What? What is it?" Mallory asked, her brows furrowed as she looked back at you, confused and startled. The water in the tub started to turn black.

"We can save him. I feel it. I can see it. We can save him and the world. We can do both. No one has to die," you told Mallory, gripping the hand that was holding onto the strand of Michael's hair.

"Are you insane? He can't be saved! He's the Antichrist! Evil is in his DNA," Mallory shouted at you, and she was looking at you as if you were crazy. And yeah, maybe you were. No, you were definitely crazy.

"Please, we have to try. I've lived with him, I've seen the good and the bad, and he can be saved. There's humanity in him. Please don't go back and kill him, I'm begging you, Mallory. There has to be a way we could do this that doesn't result in any more death," you pleaded with her, practically begging on your knees at this point. You couldn't do this without her.

"Don't tell me you're in love with him," Mallory snarled at you, still staring at you in utter disbelief of what you were proposing.

You didn't say anything in response to that.

"Are you really hearing yourself right now? Have you thought this through at all? It's crazy talk!" Mallory snapped, you had never seen her so angry before, or hear her voice raise to such a high volume.

"We can lead him down the right path, to the light. We can show him that he doesn't have to follow his father's path. His father is the one who planted those seeds in his head, but if we show him that he's not alone, if we help him, if we guide him-"

"We? No, I will have no part in this. You're the only one who could possibly get through to him. You're the only one who gives a damn, you're on your own," Mallory spat, she still couldn't believe what she was hearing. This was not part of the plan. She was supposed to kill him, and you were supposed to let her. But you realized that you couldn't lose him, that you didn't want to live without him. And if there was a way, if there was a possibility, if there was even a sliver of a chance that you could save him, then you were going to take it.

"I know it's possible. I swear I can see it. We can rewrite it all and give everyone a happy ending. We can do this. We can turn him away from the darkness," you told Mallory, and you hoped that you spoke with enough conviction that it would persuade her. You extended your hand out towards her, "We don't have much time. We have to act, now."

"Shut up!" she shouted at you.

Mallory grabbed your hand, the one with Michael's hair in it, intertwining her fingers with yours.

"Tempus Infinituum!" Mallory started the incantation, and you repeated it with her, in unison. She gripped tighter on your hand and pulled you inside the tub with her, where you both disappeared into the black water together.

It was all a blur after that, but several moments had passed, and when you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing outside of Constance's house. It worked. The spell worked.

You eyed your surroundings, but you didn't see Mallory with you. She was letting you do this on your own.

A delicate shiver sneaked up your spine as you gazed at the building, it was the place that Michael grew up, under his grandmother's care, where he was raised.

You took a deep breath, forcing down the remainder of your nerves. There was too much at stake to be nervous, to start doubting yourself that you could do this. No, there was without a shadow of a doubt that you could do this. It was going to be nothing like the first time you met him. You were not going to be cruel or rude or malevolent or berate him or try to kill him. You were going to do everything differently.

You made a beeline for the front door, but before you were able to knock on it, the door had swung open. The air grew thick in your lungs and a wave of nausea bubbled in your gut when you saw him. It was Michael. He started walking forward, leaving the premises, and didn't even pay you a glance, it was like you were merely part of the background. He didn't see you. His world was spinning and he felt like he had no one to turn to.

The tears decorating Michael's cheeks were ceaseless, demanding to cover each and every square centimeter of skin. His eyes were bloodshot and full of a hopelessness that was all too familiar, you had seen it before, such as the time he lost Miriam and when you left him after his massacre of the witches. In his bloodshot eyes there was a broken soul underneath, a lost boy, someone who was just as helpless as he was hopeless, someone who looked nothing like the Antichrist, or the spawn of the Devil.

Regret and sorrow flooded his mouth, bitter and acrid and overwhelming, it filled him with so much disgust, so much repulsion that he couldn't help the tears that welled up and began to fall. Michael tried to breathe but all he could taste was shame, shame and embarrassment and pain and he wanted to scream. Constance Langdon, his grandmother, had thrown him out in a fit of rage.

His heart felt heavy and he dry heaved, his sobs not ceasing in the slightest, it felt like they could go on forever, as if he'd never stop crying and that the hurt and misery would always be a part of him, the aching loneliness, it pulsated and his body involuntarily tensed.

You ran toward him and stopped in front of him before he could take another step away from the house.

"Hi Michael," you greeted him, and you gazed back into his eyes, his sad face was stained with his tears and a deep frown marred his features.

He halted in his tracks and stared back at you, in confusion and in wonder at the same time, his brows creasing.

"W-Who are you?" he asked brokenly, he made no attempt to mask the scratchiness in his voice.

You remembered him, everything about him, every detail, big and small, everything that made him who he was, and every cherished moment you two spent together, but he didn't. He didn't know who you were or the long, rocky mess of a history you two shared, he didn't know any of it. You were meeting him for the first time, again. It was strange because you had all these memories of him, but you knew he didn't possess a single one.

You told him your name and managed a small smile. "You're going to be okay. You're not going to be alone anymore."

You were going to be his shoulder to cry on, you were going to be his safe place, the one to pick him right back up, you were going to be the help.


	19. Sympathy for the Antichrist

You return to the day Constance kicked out Michael and meet him for the first time, again.

You were not going to let him go. You never wanted to let him go. You were so close to losing him and it scared you to death.

You wrapped your arms around Michael's shoulders in the tightest hug you could manage, and his familiar scent invaded your nostrils, your heart lurching.

It was bittersweet, you were grateful because Mallory had given you this chance to rewrite history and lead Michael down a promising path but on the other hand, Michael didn't remember you, and you went back to one of the darkest chapters of his life. You didn't know how things were going to turn out.

This was your one chance. You couldn't screw it up.

You could do it. You could help Michael. It was possible. You had to believe that, it was the only way you were going to get through this.

Immediately, Michael's arms went around your chest and clutched the back of your dress like a lifeline. His head dropped onto your shoulder as he blinked furiously, tears welling up quicker now, desperately trying not to break down. However, the shuddering of his chest betrayed him. He was crying – awful, snotty, full-on sobs. Of course there were – because the wound was still open, fresh, torn apart and bleeding. You could feel everything, his heart slamming in his chest, his rib cage contracting and expanding with every shaky breath he took. He tasted fear on his tongue, sharp and metallic, and he felt desperation under his skin, hot and tingly.

Michael was falling apart at the seams before you. He was drowning in his own misery. He was teetering on the edge of broken. No, he was broken.

You felt the shoulder of your dress growing progressively damper. You found that you didn't care.

Michael inhaled deeply enough to make his lungs burn with the effort, then lets the air whistle slowly, steadily through his teeth.

"She doesn't want me anymore. It's all my fault," Michael choked out on a puffed exhale, it came out wobbly, words inserting themselves in the spaces between his coughs. His voice was weak, and small, saying it out loud made his head swim and his heart hurt. His cheeks were bright pink on his otherwise pale face, his blue eyes puffy and red from crying.

Michael was acutely aware of time ticking, of the tears running down his cheeks, of his chest feeling like it was trying to collapse in on itself, of his harsh breaths as he tried to calm down, but it was in vain. Everything seemed so loud yet deafeningly quiet all at once. This feeling of something that was ripped out from him; he hated it. His throat tightened and his eyes burned. Michael was clutching onto you as though you would be pulled from his grasp at any moment. His breathing was uneven, like he couldn't catch it and keeps getting the wind knocked out of him.

"It's going to be okay, Michael. I'm here, I'm right here," your voice was no more than a reverent whisper, but the words repeated themselves on a loop inside Michael's head, tiny flecks of pure light in the vast vacuum of his thoughts.

He knew, in that moment, that he was a burden.

However, the human touch was so welcome and so real, and he felt like it tethered him to the world around him. It connected him to the place in which he felt so deeply that he did not belong.

You wanted to make all of the worries that swam around inside his head simply disappear. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, warmth swelling in his chest.

"Shh. It's alright. I promise, it's alright. You're going to get through this," you reassured, as if you were talking to a wounded animal. You rubbed his back soothingly and let Michael bury his face against your shoulder.

"It hurts. It hurts so much," he murmured brokenly. Tears flowed thick and fast down his cheeks, shoulders shaking. His breathing sounded painful, sobs wrenched from his throat between words.

You tried to pull his face up but Michael was stubborn and refused to let you see him so weak any more than you already have. "It's okay," you assured.

"No," Michael refused, though he still clung onto you. You would let him cling to you forever if you thought it would help.

You eventually gave up trying to see Michael's tear-stained face. You just pulled Michael closer with a sigh, running your hands over his back, across his arms, petting his hair and rocking him back and forth in your hold in what you hoped was comforting.

He opened his mouth and only an indecipherable sound escaped from his throat. He was trying to speak though he couldn't find his voice. He sucked in a sharp breath and let out another undignified sound that he did not recognize. He sank his teeth into his lower lip to stop the broken sounds but it rattled pitifully in his chest and came out nonetheless, heartbreakingly piteous whimpers pouring from his mouth.

"I've got you," you told him. This time when he took a deep, steadying breath, the air filled his lungs like acid and he nearly spluttered.

You could barely hear the muffled words when he spoke up again, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

You weren't sure if he was apologizing to you or if he was still replaying the scene in his head of his grandmother disowning him and throwing him out, either way, you just wanted to make it better.

You two stayed like that for a while longer, arms wrapped around each other in a tight and consoling embrace. Michael's breath had quickened dramatically. It was a wheezing sound, like he was struggling to inhale, and it scared you. You wished you could take away some of his pain. No, you wished you could take away all of his pain, every bit of it.

He breathed deeply through his nose, out through his mouth, still trembling all the way through. He sagged helplessly against you and you just let him, rubbing his back soothingly until he sniffled. He kept his eyes cast down; he couldn't bear to look at you. He was far too embarrassed, too ashamed, too humiliated.

Eventually, Michael's soft sputtering had stopped and the helpless shaking of his shoulders died down to a tremble. He began to calm down, his cries and gasps getting weaker and coming in longer intervals. He wasn't clutching as tightly to your frame, either. You let out a deep sigh.

"Are you okay now Michael?" you asked him in a gentle voice.

He nodded his head but his face was still nuzzled against your shoulder.

Tentatively, your hands reached forward and cupped his cheeks, lifting his head up carefully. He didn't refuse this time so you made some progress.

Michael's breath evened out and he slowly looked up at you, his eyes swollen and still brimming with tears, his jaw quivering.

"Why? Why are you being so good to me?" he asked, the end of his sentence was cut off by a whine.

"Because you deserve it. You deserve to be cared for and loved," you told him.

You quickly dabbed at his cheeks and eyes, a sniffle or two coming from him. He was taken aback, a look of genuine shock was spread across his features.

Michael's heart warmed at the tone of your words, but he felt as though it could never be true.

"You don't even know me. I'm a monster," Michael answered, voice low and rough. Chills reverberated through this body. Your heart dropped. You frowned, despite your best efforts not to in fear of upsetting him, and shook your head.

Oh, but you did know him. This wasn't just some random act of kindness towards a stranger. No, there was so much more to it than that.

"You're not a monster, Michael. You're good. There's goodness in you," you murmured, and your voice calmed the storm in his head, in his aching heart.

"I have nowhere to go. I can't live with my grandmother anymore," Michael admitted, his voice scratchy.

"You're going to come with me. There's a place you can stay," you said, your expression was earnest as you gazed back into his eyes.

"T-That's really nice of you," Michael replied in a quiet voice. His eyes widened in disbelief. He didn't think he'd have a place to sleep today. Michael didn't have any friends, so it wasn't like he could crash at someone's house, and he didn't have a dollar to his name, so he couldn't afford to stay at a motel, either. But then you came along, like some kind of guardian angel. It was truly a miracle, like divine intervention.

You pulled away from the hug only to grab his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers together. Michael squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes never leaving you.

You were taking him away from that dreaded house. He didn't belong there anymore.

You brought him to your best friend's house because you couldn't take him back home and have him meet Miriam. No, you had to keep that devil-worshiping woman far, far away from him.

You arrived at Olivia's doorstep with Michael by your side.

When she opened the door, she raised her eyebrows at Michael, then at you, before a confused look came over her features.

"Who's this?" she asked.

"His name is Michael. Michael, this is Olivia," you said before getting straight to the point. "Is it okay if he crashes here for a bit? He doesn't have a place to stay. We won't be here too long, it's temporary, I promise," you explained.

"Sure," Olivia answered quickly. "He can stay as long as he likes."

She winked at Michael, a coy smile playing on her lips.

Michael didn't give much of a reaction as he was still trying to pull himself together and he felt mentally drained after crying so much and so heavily.

"Go ahead, you can come in," you told him, nudging him inside by his shoulder. "Make yourself comfortable and I'll make you something to eat."

He nodded his head and sniffed quietly to himself, stepping inside the house and looking about the place as he did.

"Well, he's definitely an improvement from Tyler," Olivia commented with a whistle, her cheeks blossoming with a soft hue of pink. "Where did you find him? Does he go to our school?"

"It's a long story. A really long story. I won't bore you with all the details. He just doesn't have anywhere to go and I can't bring him to my place, you know how bonkers my mom is," you told her.

"A face that pretty should never be at risk of being homeless, so he can make himself right at home. I'm totally cool with it!" Olivia giggled. "Why are you being so vague though? What's his story?"

"His grandmother kicked him out and he's just really struggling right now, with a lot. So please, don't hound him with questions and just be nice and friendly, let him be comfortable around here," you explained.

"Oh, I'll be really friendly alright," Olivia nodded her head in agreement.

"No, not the kind of friendly you're thinking of," you warned with a deadpan expression. "Don't make this weird, okay? He's not staying here long anyway. He's had a rough day so I just thought he could cool off here for a bit."

"Okay fine, you don't have to get all possessive on me, I get it," Olivia said, raising her hands up defensively. "But damn, he sure is pretty," she remarked as she stared at him as he was sitting at the table in the kitchen.

"Stop staring," you scolded her. "You can go off and do your own thing now," you said, waving her off.

"Fine, fine, so greedy," Olivia whined with a pout before she walked off and as she did, you noticed she was staring at Michael again, smiling like an infatuated schoolgirl.

You entered the kitchen where Michael was.

"Don't mind her. She's a little kooky," you joked and stood next to Michael, placing your hand on his shoulder. "Now, how would you like something to eat? You could use a warm meal, huh?"

"Yeah, I'd like that very much. Thank you," Michael answered with a hint of a smile, his fingers reaching to brush yours where they touched his skin.

You felt heat flush across your face upon the contact and your heart skipped a beat. You pulled your hand away and nodded, acting as though there weren't butterflies fluttering in your stomach by such a simple gesture.

You started cooking Michael a fresh, hot meal of chicken fettuccine alfredo. You remembered he liked pasta and that time he was fed spinach lasagna at that Satanic church.

Seeing Michael sitting and waiting at the kitchen table made you start to think about the day Miriam had welcomed Michael to your home. You were so cruel to him then. If he so much as looked your way or breathed in your direction, it fueled you with a rage so strong you could see red. He was dangerous, an aura of darkness was attached to his very soul, you could feel it with every breath he took, and you were never supposed to fall for that dastardly charm. Those days felt so far away, but here you were, welcoming him into your friend's house, and cooking for him. History had a funny way of repeating itself.

Michael was watching you, and he was silent for the most part. You were still a stranger to him. He didn't know what to say or do or how to act around you. You tried striking casual conversation with him but he would give very short responses or just nod his head to most of what you said. It was strange to think about how only moments ago (for you) he was mercilessly massacring the witches but now he was waiting for dinner to be served, looking so unsure of himself, so meek and fragile. There was this innocence about him, in the way he conducted himself and the way he spoke. That was a complete 360 if you've ever seen one.

When dinner was finally ready, you served him a steaming bowl of the pasta and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He was quick to start scarfing the food down and you couldn't help but smile in response.

"You must be really hungry," you commented, your elbow leaned on the table with your hand curled over your cheek.

"Aren't you going to eat?" he asked after swallowing a mouthful of the pasta.

"No, I'm not hungry," you said. "It was just for you."

"I still don't understand why you're doing this," Michael started after another bite. "I'm a stranger. You don't know anything about me. I don't deserve this," he mumbled the last part of that sentence.

Michael wasn't a stranger to you, but you were to him.

"You looked like you could use a friend, someone to be there for you. You looked so sad," you told him as you reached forward and curled a loose golden strand that was hanging in front of his face. He gazed back at you and his plump lips parted just the slightest bit.

You could lose yourself in the deep blue ocean of his eyes, you could drown in them, they were enthralling in every sense of the word. As he stared back at you, Michael realized that despite never having met you, he somehow felt a connection to you, he couldn't quite place a finger on it, but it was there, he knew it.

"You're so beautiful," Michael found himself admitting before his brain could catch up with what he was saying.

"Thank you," you answered sheepishly, a flush creeping up your neck and your cheeks upon his words.

"You're beautiful, like an angel," Michael added as his eyes bore into yours.

You couldn't help but think back, angel was what he used to call you, and the term of endearment used to annoy you before, but now it made you smile. You leaned in and caressed Michael's cheek. The curve was exactly the same. As was the angle that Michael turned his head at to melt into your touch. He made a soft humming sound at the back of his throat. He embraced the warmth and delicate caresses that his body knew better than his memory could ever recreate.

You felt your breath hitch when he started to lean in further, his gaze locked on yours before they slowly trailed down to your lips.

You realized what he was suggesting but before you were able to decide what your next move was, you heard a fire catch upon the stove behind you, when it wasn't even on in the first place. There were huge dancing flames on the burners and you stood up and rushed to put it out. You could hear Michael apologizing profusely in the background. He had caused the fire and he knew it.

Though, you didn't need to use water or a fire extinguisher, you simply focused on the energy and extinguished the fire with your mind. You already knew your powers and abilities and had all your memories despite going back to the past so you didn't have to rediscover them. You released a sigh of relief and there was a pinched burnt scent lingering in the air.

Michael rose from his chair and stared at you wide-eyed in disbelief. He paused for a long moment before responding.

"Y-You're like me?" he asked, shock and confusion written all over his face.

"Yeah," you admitted. "But I have it under control. You need to learn how to control your powers, too. I know you're struggling with it, that maybe it makes you feel scared," you started as you walked back towards him, "but you don't have to fear it. You don't have to let it control you. There's a place that can help you harness that energy."

"And what place is that?" Michael questioned, curious.

"It's called Miss Robichaux's Academy. It's a safe haven for people like us," you left out the part where it was an academy just for women but you were hoping that they would make an exception for him. "There, you'll be able to control your abilities."

"Oh," Michael replied, trying to process your words. "I-I thought there was something different about you. I could feel it when I touched you. You're not like the others."

"No, I'm not. I'm a witch," you told him, a slow breath was released from your lips. You had to remain calm.

"What does that make me?" he asked in a timid voice.

"A warlock," you replied, but that was putting things in simple terms, he was so much more than that.

He took a moment to roll it over in his head before he responded. "Do you think they can really help me? Do you really think I can be helped?"

"Yeah, I know they can. I'm certain of it," you said with a nod of your head.

"You don't think they'll be scared of me?" Michael asked, there was a slight tremble in his voice.

"No, they won't be scared of you," you answered, shaking your head. "But you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"You have to promise me that you'll be on your best behavior, at all times, that you'll be good to them, that you'll listen and let them guide you, that you won't lash out at them if you're feeling frustrated, that you'll be patient and good, no matter what," you urged, meeting his eyes with an solemn expression on your face so he knew how serious you were.

"I promise," Michael replied, his heart nearly danced in his chest as he fervently nodded.

"Pinky promise?" you asked and held out your pinky for him.

"Pinky promise," he repeated and linked his pinky with yours.

"It's official now, and you're not supposed to break promises," you explained.

He nodded his head with a pensive look on his face.

Shortly after dinner, you decided to call it a night. It had been a long day for the both of you, but it felt even longer for you, given the horrifying events prior to what was now the present. You were both tired and exhausted, Michael from crying his heart out, and you from experiencing a living nightmare.

You were staying in the guest room and you let Michael join you on the bed. You had to keep an eye on him after all and it wasn't the first time you two shared a bed. You tugged up the covers and rolled in beside Michael, making yourself comfortable. He was behind you and so you had a clear view of the opposite wall while he was staring at your back.

There was a comfortable silence that stretched in the room and as your eyes started to drift shut, you felt Michael begin to shift on the mattress, moving closer to you.

Michael wrapped his arms around your waist, his fingers drumming over your hip before he slid the tips beneath your sleep shirt to warm against your skin and you had to jolt at the iciness of them.

"Mmsorry," he murmured, curling around you, your backside pressing against his hips, and you fit against him like a puzzle piece, as though you were created to be near him.

"You're freezing," you told him, and your heart hummed in your chest in the familiar way that indicated that you were happy.

"I'm cold," he replied, pressing the flat of his palm against your stomach.

You squirmed your way around to face him. His eyes were heavily lidded and he looked so soft, so gentle, like an ethereal beauty. He was at peace, content. He wanted to be near you, to wrap himself around you.

Your lips tipped up as his hand came to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair and you leaned into his grasp, feeling him rub his thumb behind your ear.

You thought you must look something like a cat with how smug your smile turned, a silent triumph, when you opened your eyes and curled your lips just so.

"I can warm you up, then?" and his breath hitched because you set your hand against his chest and felt his heart pumping. You were warm, soft. You swung your leg over his hips, coming in closer so you could see how his pupils dilated.

You tucked your face close to his neck and nuzzled and kissed his pulse point, and felt the fluttering of his heartbeat on your lips.

And when he brought his hand to your lower back and you felt his heart swell, he said your name, but it sounded like something else; like "stay", like "please?", like "don't ever leave". There were words in his throat he couldn't force out and you were okay with that, you didn't want him to, either.

His fingers reached out to stroke at your hip once more and you sighed contently, wrapping your own arms around his neck. He could feel the flutter of your eyelashes from where his shirt exposed his throat, and his smile softened as he rested his cheek atop your head. He felt you nuzzle against him and you made the sweetest noise when you curled against him, your ear to his chest, mumbling something about his heart beating, the rhythm lulling you. How odd it was that he'd been called heartless many times before when you could hear it so clearly. He couldn't believe you trusted him enough to hold you, to be by you in the same bed, and share warmth.

He brought his other hand to the top of your head, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you against him as his own eyes grew tired, lids heavy.

"Better?" you asked.

"Much better," Michael answered.

Moments like these, soft, careful moments no one believed him capable of or worthy to experience were the best fragments of time he could spend with you. When you were so trusting and lovely, loving, to allow him to hold you, to have not a speck of fear or hesitation in your soul. In this moment, you were in his arms, breathing deeply against him, and for the first time he didn't feel like a monster.

He needed you. He really needed you.

He so rarely got sleep in the past, never comfortable, never feeling safe. He figured maybe he had some catching up to do as he cradled you against him, completely lulled.

The next day you took Michael to go shopping for clothes and for some essentials you knew he needed because he didn't have any of his things nor did he have a penny to his name, courtesy of his grandmother, Constance.

He followed you around everywhere, like a lost puppy, never straying off on his own. You made him feel safe, and he felt as though he could forget his worries. He was curious about you, always. You were so good to him, but he had been deprived of good things, good people, so he didn't think he was deserving of it.

When you two returned home after a successful shopping trip at the mall, you started to organize his things in the guest room, humming to yourself as you did.

After you were finished, you decided to take a shower. You entered the bathroom and quickly disrobed. You went inside the shower and let the warmth of the water soothe your bones.

When you came out of the bathroom, dressed in a comfy pair of PJs, you entered the living room, looking for Michael. When you didn't see him in the living room nor the kitchen, you peered outside to the backyard.

And the moment you did, your blood ran cold and you felt your skin crawl. A shiver ran down your spine and your heart was in your throat. You couldn't leave Michael alone for one moment, could you?

You stormed outside and spotted him crouched on the ground by a bush. He was chopping up a rodent with a knife and their guts were spilling out of itself, coating his hands in fresh blood as it dripped and dripped, over and under his fingers.

"Michael! What are you doing?"

The sound of your voice being raised startled him and he dropped the poor defenseless rat on the ground.

"I-I was just... I-"

His words were a series of broken stutters as he looked up at you wide-eyed, not knowing how to respond.

You had to fight the urge to cringe as you looked down at his hands, then back at his face.

"You're angry," he said out loud, not finishing his earlier thought.

"You can't do that. You can't be killing animals. It's wrong."

And disturbing. And sick.

"Those innocent creatures are totally defenseless and you're being senselessly cruel to them," you scolded him. You were disgusted as you glanced at the guts that were caking his hands.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'll stop," he croaked.

"Was that animal hurting you?" you asked, feeling like you were reprimanding a troubled child at this point.

"No, no it wasn't," he answered, his voice stammering.

"That's right. It wasn't. What you did was bad. Please don't ever do it again. You can't do it again, do you understand?" you rebuked him.

He nodded his head quickly. "I-I won't. I won't do it again. I'm sorry."

"Just go inside and clean up, okay?" you said, trying to remain calm. He did as you told him and you let out a deep sigh. You looked back down at the gutted and bloodied rat whose insides were scattered around his body. The dead rat was surrounding by the green earth and plentiful bright flowers, such a grim contrast. You frowned as a shudder raced through you.

Olivia stepped outside to the backyard moments later, humming to herself, but then she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw what you were looking at.

"Oh my god! What the fuck happened? Who did that?" she screeched.

"I-I don't know," you lied.

"It's probably those damned neighbors' kids, they're always causing a ruckus, they probably threw it over the fence and thought it was funny. They're fucking monsters," Olivia swore, her nose scrunched up in disgust. "Please just get rid of it!"

"Yeah, probably," you answered, disposing of the rat.

"Serial killer much? I think I'm gonna be sick," Olivia said, about to hurl.

You hoped Michael didn't hear that.

Isn't that how it starts? With most killers? They start by killing defenseless animals? To see what it feels like? Before they go on and murder humans?

No, you couldn't let your mind wander to that place. No, that was just a mishap, a road block along the way. It was going to be okay. Things were going to work out. He saw how disgusted and upset you were. He wasn't going to do it again. He said he wouldn't.

You just weren't going to let him out of your sight.

You were going to keep him distracted and busy for as long as you could if that's what it took. You had to make sure he was ready to go to Miss Robichaux's Academy before you actually took him there, that he wouldn't scare off the witches before he could even be enrolled there.

For the rest of the day, you didn't let him out of your sight. You two played board games like chess and checkers and learned just how smart he was. Clever. So very clever. He won every single time and he knew tricks that you didn't even see coming, always so many steps ahead of you. It was fascinating, yet at the same time, alarming since you knew what became of him in the future. But that was before.

He was such good company and when he would talk about the things in the world that fascinated him, that he had a strong interest in, you found yourself engrossed and hanging onto his every word. He liked games and so that was how you would entertain him, if that could keep him away from murdering those poor, defenseless animals then so be it. You even played his video games, you didn't particularly enjoy them but you just wanted to spend time with him, to be with him, to see him smile, to see the way his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree, to hear him laugh, it brought you joy.

Later, you and Michael sat upon the rooftop to stargaze.

The sky was perfect tonight; a beautiful dark velvet that contrasted every little white dot of a distant celestial body. Michael hadn't protested too much when you goaded him into sneaking out onto the roof via window with an armful of blankets and pillows. You two laid out the comforters on top of the shingles and settled down, only a foot away from one another. Your heart felt ready to burst, imagining how far away the rest of the known universe lay in the gods' schema - how impossibly small your own existence was within it all even though you felt as though you could reach out and capture a dwarf star in your palm right there on the rooftop.

It had to be near 1am. All the houses on the street were dark and everything was still as stagnant water in the little gated community Olivia lived in. Your heart was racing.

You turned your head to realize that Michael had been staring at you – expression strangely serene as he watched you stargaze.

"What?" you suddenly felt bashful. It was incredibly intimate, as if you'd been caught doing something more private than just watching the night constellations.

"Did you come out here to ask the universe for advice?" Michael asked point-blank. Michael's tone was almost accusatory, but still as gentle as the expression in his eyes. He appeared to be fighting down a smile.

"No, this is just something I've always done. It's so calm and quiet and helps me think," you answered, turning away again. Your face felt warm. Something within your chest tightened when your eyes had met, something that felt so good it was almost painful and made you fidget where you laid. The feeling didn't stop with the break in eye contact.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked. It sounded like Michael had turned on his side. Was he facing you? He sounded closer than before. You gulped, hoping the sound wasn't too audible. You weren't sure why you felt anxious.

"You ask a lot of questions," you told him.

"I know what you're thinking about," he started.

"What?" you turned your head again and found that Michael's gaze was unwavering.

"You're feeling uncertain about something, scared. You're feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders, like there's something you need to do but you don't know if you're capable of it, if you have the power to make it a reality. You're doubting yourself," Michael explained.

"I'm fine, I don't know what you're talking about," you replied with a small laugh to try and mask what you were truly feeling. It seemed like nothing had changed. He had always done that – been able to read you forwards and backwards, like a book. Michael had dropped it after you simply dismissed his accusation.

Silence filled the air between you two and all you were aware of was the heavy, quick paced beating of your heart in your chest and the fact that Michael was still gazing at you with a kind of fondness, as though you – as though this moment – was something precious.

You felt as though a star was forming in your chest or perhaps a galaxy was collapsing and dragging you down with its powerful gravity. Whatever it was, you were awake and alive and thrumming with something you couldn't name as you gazed up at Michael staring dreamily at you. He settled a little closer, narrowing the gap between you two to only a span of inches.

"It is peaceful out here, under the stars," Michael noted. You jumped a little at Michael's soft voice, meeting his eyes again, "with you," he added. He subtly closed another inch of the gap.

"Yeah, it is," you replied. You had begun shivering and Michael took the opportunity to grab the edge of the blanket and pull it over you two, encasing you both in a small cocoon. You didn't protest, wouldn't have dreamed of it, but now you shook for a whole new reason. There was no space between you two, your foreheads touching and Michael's warm breath fanned over your cheek. His eyes were closed now. Michael looked perfectly at ease, comfortable and content.

Your eyes slid away to study the stars, seek out the Big Dipper – anything to quell the shaking in your hands and stop yourself from counting the nearly invisible freckles across Michael's high cheek bones. All you could think about was how beautiful and angelic he was, relaxed and serene and bathed in moonlight in your arms.

"So nothing really matters, huh?" Michael's voice was soft and deep and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had to take a deep, controlled breath.

"I think we have the choice," you answered. Michael was looking at you again, silently urging you on. All of your usual confidence had dissipated under that stare, under the stars and the Milky Way galaxy overhead, it felt like Michael could dissect you with a look alone. Gazing into his eyes gave you the same high you felt before. "We have the choice of what is truly important to us. We can choose to live, and do what we want – what scares us."

You weren't even sure if you were making sense anymore, you weren't quite listening to your own words. You didn't mean to ramble, truly, but between the icy blue of Michael's eyes and the curl of his lips, you got a little lost.

"What is it that you want to do, that scares you so badly, that you have to consult the known universe for encouragement?" Michael asked.

You couldn't answer – you wouldn't know what to say, anyway. You fought so hard to plan things out – to figure out what your next move was and how you were ultimately going to save the world, Michael, and your coven, but was that really possible? Was it just another pipe dream? Something you had fabricated in your head and falsely believed could be a reality?

"Nothing. Nothing at all," you said, it wasn't like you could tell him anything.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course," you answered.

"Why do I feel like I've met you before? Like this isn't the first time being around you?" Michael questioned, his nose scrunching up a little as he thought about it.

"What makes you think that?" you asked, raising your brows and your eyes widened just the slightest bit.

"I remember..." he started, lifting his fingers up to brush against his lips. "I remember kissing you."

"Oh," you said, it was all you could manage at that moment.

"I remember your scent. I remember holding you in my arms. I remember..."

"This is the first time we've met," you cut him off.

"When I started that fire, the day you brought me here, you weren't surprised. You knew what I could do," he explained.

"I sensed it in you. I felt it. That's all. We've never met before, I assure you," you lied. You couldn't tell him the truth. First of all, it sounded absolutely crazy that you essentially traveled back in time. Second of all, you couldn't let him remember, because if he remembered, then it's possible all the other pieces would fit together too, then he would remember Miriam, the Black Mass, his father disowning him. No, you couldn't allow that. This needed to be a clean slate.

"You knew my name. When you came up to me, you said my name, you knew who I was," he accused.

That was a mistake on your part.

You had to come up with something quick.

"I heard it. Your grandmother was yelling. That's how I knew," you continued to lie.

"Oh," he answered. "Are you sure?" he asked, a confused look on his features. Michael's feeling of familiarity continued to gnaw at his gut as you gazed upon him.

"I just get this feeling sometimes when I'm around you, like it's not the first time, like we've crossed paths before, like there's this history."

"Yes, I'm sure. There is no history between us. This is the first time we've met," you told him.

It killed you to lie to his face, over and over again, but it had to be done. You had to do it for his sake.

It wasn't long after that you two went back down and headed to bed in your room. You got through another day. You could do this. You knew you could.

Hours had passed but you awoke in the middle of the night because your shoulder was being nudged repeatedly.

A groggy whine escaped your lips in protest but the nudging only continued.

You blinked your eyes open slowly and looked up at the source of the one who disturbed your slumber.

It was none other than Tyler.

"Tyler? What the fuck are you doing here?" you whispered loudly.

"I had to see you," he said, his voice slurring.

"Who let you in?" you asked, furrowing your brows.

"Olivia. I wasn't leaving until she let me in, so don't be mad at her," he answered, raising his hands up defensively. He looked over the other side of the bed and noticed Michael was right next to you, his back facing you. "Who the fuck is that? Don't tell me you've already replaced me."

"You need to leave. I'm trying to sleep," you told him with a sharp glare.

"No, I'm not leaving until we kiss and make up. I miss you," he said, reaching out to caress your cheek. You slapped his hand away immediately. "You've been ignoring all my calls and texts, what's a guy supposed to do?"

You just remembered. You and Tyler had a falling-out this year because you caught him sleeping with a girl that you couldn't stand. You two weren't a couple, or a 'thing', you had a friends with benefits, no strings attached fuck buddy kind of relationship, but still, he claimed that he wanted to be with you, but he couldn't because he had 'commitment' issues. Not to mention that said girl you couldn't stand made it a point to rub it in your face, so that only made things worse. You were done with him then and you were done with him, now.

"Just get out," you spat.

"I just want things to go back to the way they were," he whined, and you could smell the stench of alcohol on his breath.

"Have you been drinking all day? Please don't tell me you drove over here," you snarled.

"I did. I'm not that drunk," he replied, his words slurring once more. You didn't know what you ever saw in this guy.

"You're totally wasted. For fuck's sake, you could have killed someone, or you could have killed yourself for being a fucking idiot," you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. You didn't want to wake Michael.

"Would that have gotten your attention?" Tyler asked, sounding pathetically desperate at this point.

You tore the blanket from your body and stood up from the bed, pointing at the door as you stared at him with a piercing glare. "Leave. Now."

"Oh come on, you can't tell me you don't miss me. I know you do. I know your body," Tyler claimed, reaching over to grasp your shoulder and pull you toward him, but you pushed his hand away.

"Tyler, we're done. It's over," you barked, you were fuming now. He was getting on your last nerve.

"I know you don't mean that," Tyler scoffed. "You love playing hard to get. It's what makes you so much fun."

He was about to put his hands on you once again but then in the blink of an eye, before you were even able to register what was happening, Tyler was shoved against the wall in front of you.

Michael's hands were locked around Tyler's throat. He had charged towards him with a raging fire in his veins. Michael was strangling him, applying pressure and making Tyler jerk and grunt in agony.

You could hear Tyler releasing a strained breath that he could hardly get out as Michael was pressing his fingers into his skin.

"Michael! What are you doing? Let him go!" you demanded, but Michael's grip only tightened as Tyler continued to struggle.

"You can't talk to her like that," Michael spat. "She told you to leave."

"I'm sorry," Tyler wheezed out. Michael's hand pinned his neck to the wall, lifting him so high that his feet didn't even brush against the ground as he crushed his throat. Tyler tried to worm his fingers inside Michael's fists, to loosen his old, but it took him only one try to know that it was useless. Michael's fingers were stuck in place like cement, not letting him go unless he decided to.

"Michael!" you cried. "I said stop!"

Michael straightened Tyler further up. "You will be sorry."

Tyler whimpered. He opened his mouth, but there were no words. His lips throbbed, shook, everything was numb. Legs were becoming harder to move, hands so limp he wasn't sure he had them anymore. His chest was burning. Michael's face swung in and out of focus; his gaze piercing him. His deep blue eyes were burning with such anger.

Tyler was feeling along the wall, searching for a place to hold himself up to breathe at least once again, at least enough to answer. Michael had dug his fingers in his skin so deep that he punctured it and blood was seeping down his neck, dripping in Michael's hands. Michael gritted his jaw as iron flooded his veins.

"Michael! Please, stop!" you begged. "He'll leave, you don't have to do this!"

You raced over and tore him away from Tyler, pulling him by his shoulders. He stumbled back from the surprise of it but Michael didn't stop his punishment on him. Tyler was still against the wall, his body convulsing violently as blood trickled from his eyes and nose and his mouth. Michael had his hand stretched out towards his defenseless body as he inflicted this cruelty on him. You tried to stop Michael with your own magic, but you couldn't. He was much, much stronger than you.

You stood in front of Michael and placed your hand on his shoulder, gripping onto it. "Michael, enough! Please, you can't do this, you can't be hurting people," you pleaded, your eyes brimming with tears – that was enough for Michael to release Tyler. Michael's face softened, a look of remorse and sorrow etched in his features and he realized what he had done.

"I-I'm sorry," he whispered in a small voice.

Tyler's face was burning as he slid down the wall, unable to keep himself steady on his shaking legs, and his eyes were drifted shut.

You rushed over to Tyler's aid and grabbed his arm, performing a healing spell on him. He was on the brink of death. His heart was about to give out.

There was sweat in his hair and his lungs were filling again with oxygen but he almost didn't notice. His head was still spinning and his whole body was quivering. Tyler's eyes were now wide open in horror. His face was still covered in red.

"What the hell just happened?" he asked out loud.

"You're okay now," you told him.

He looked about his surroundings for a moment and then swallowed thickly when he met Michael's eyes. "You..." he started, lifting his shaky hand up slowly to point a finger at Michael. "That boy has the devil in him."

Your heart dropped to your stomach.

"He's a freak! A fucking lunatic! A monster! He tried to fucking kill me!" he screamed at Michael.

"Tyler, just go! Leave!" you shouted at Tyler.

"Yeah, I'm fucking leaving alright," Tyler stood up on wobbly legs. "If I were you, I would be running, too. Far, far away from that monster."

He shot daggers at Michael before he stumbled out of your room and shut the door. There was a deep frown on Michael's face. He clenched his fists with an iron will. He had to wrangle his storm of emotions.

You slowly turned back to Michael. "Michael, what did I tell you? I told you not to hurt people! You almost killed him! You would have had I not intervened! Why did you do that?"

"He wouldn't leave you alone. He was harassing you," Michael said in his defense.

"I could have handled it. I was handling it. You shouldn't have done that. Michael, I can't go through this again. You need to listen to me," you scolded him, grabbing onto his shoulders. He couldn't look you in the eye because of the scowl on your face. He hated when he disappointed you or made you upset. He felt so ashamed of himself.

"You were upset, and he deserved it, you know he did," Michael answered, his voice thick. "I couldn't sit back and watch him treat you like that."

"You can't hurt people. You can't try to kill them when they make you angry. You don't have to resort to violence. You can't. You can fix problems without it. Have you ever tried talking things out? I'm serious, Michael, this cannot happen, ever again," you told him seriously.

"Please don't be mad at me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please, I'm trying to be good, I really am trying," he repeated, his voice was breaking between words and his eyes were welling up. "I just get these urges sometimes, and it's like I can't control it, something just comes over me."

You couldn't help but frown at that.

"You have to listen to me. If you get an urge to hurt someone, you have to fight it. You cannot let it control you, your anger, your fear. Do not let it have power over you. You have to remember that. It doesn't always have to end in death. Please Michael, I'm begging you," you urged, never breaking eye contact, not even for a moment.

"You aren't going to leave me, right? Please tell me you're not going to leave," he begged, you could hear the fear and desperation in his voice.

"No, I'm not going to leave you, but you have to meet me half way," you explained. "You can't scare me like that, again."

"I scared you?" he asked, worrying his bottom lip.

"You did scare me, but I'm not scared of you, and I won't ever be because you're not going to do it again," you told him. There was only so many times you could clean up the messes he created.

"That's the last thing I want," Michael paused, an achingly raw sound supplemented his speech. "The last thing I want is for you to think I'm a monster," he added, swallowing a lump in his throat as weighty as lead. "I only want to make you happy."

"Michael, I know there's good in you," you said, poking your finger against his chest, right where his heart was. "And I know that in here," you tapped at his chest once more, "you don't want to hurt me. So I won't let anyone hurt you, either. Ever. But please, please don't ever do that again."

He looked at you in confusion. He never did understand you. Your gentle, worrying nature, nor your warrior-like ferocity. It was as though you were in a constant state of both stability and permanent unsettlement.

You were a puzzle he couldn't solve. Something about you... Your soul, perhaps. Your very being. Your nature...

He chose not to dwell on it, too long. For the time being he just kept his gaze locked on yours.

"So you forgive me? You won't be angry anymore?" Michael asked.

"Michael, I'll only forgive you if you don't do it again. And you're not going to, right?" you questioned, raising your brows at him.

"I won't. I won't do it again," he repeated.

Michael then held out his pinky.

You linked your pinky with his and gave him a small smile.

You two returned to bed not long after.

You inhaled heavily, closing your eyes and lowering your head; it wasn't the first time you had gotten your hopes up, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but you had hoped so desperately, and for a moment that seemed like it might have been enough.

Could you really do this? Was it really possible? Was the universe showing you time and time again that this was simply his nature? That this was fate?

Satan had blessed him with an angelic beauty and a killer jawline, same as he had cursed him with a lethal need for violence. His beauty was meant to charm and entice others, to lure those most vulnerable, those least suspecting. A fallen angel. He was made by evil. It was part of his genetic makeup – his thirst for violence. It was in his blood, in his nature. Maybe there was no reversing that.

You started to stare at the wall with a blank expression as your head was filled with unwanted thoughts coming at you all at once.

Michael falls asleep quickly, chest rising and falling evenly against yours. For you, it takes much longer.


	20. The Morning After

You allowed your eyes to flutter open. The warm sun peered in through the partially opened curtains and bathed the room in the soft, golden light of morning. The window was slightly opened and you could hear the sound of bird song and a gentle breeze. You sighed deeply.

Today was another day.

Without thought, your arm shifted outwards, expecting to find warm flesh and surprised to only find cold sheets. Turning your gaze, you discovered the side of your bed usually taken up by Michael to be empty, and if the temperature was to be trusted, apparently had been so for quite some time.

Where did he go?

Your heart started to hammer against your chest.

You had to find him.

Sitting up, you permitted a frown to tug on your lips. Michael was with you when you had fallen asleep the night before, curled up into your side and puffing air onto your neck, and it was unheard of for him to wake up before you. You were just about to throw your legs over the side of the bed and begin your search for him when the door to your room opened with a soft whoosh.

"Morning, angel," Michael greeted with a warm smile.

A wave of relief washed over you and your heart began to beat a little easier and that panic ebbed.

You took in Michael's appearance. Dressed in low slung blue and white striped pajama pants and a faded grey t-shirt, he was carrying a tray laden with plates and glasses filled with breakfast foods, one such glass holding a single red rose.

"Morning," you answered.

Michael approached and you nodded, getting yourself situated so you were sitting up and leaned back against the pillows, settling. Michael placed the tray over your lap, and you eyed him carefully as he did so.

"I decided to make you breakfast," Michael started. "I thought you would have woken up before I was finished, but since you didn't I thought I'd just give you breakfast in bed."

You felt the delicate curve of your eyebrow rise as you took in the spread before you. A plate sporting waffles artfully decorated with syrup and powdered sugar, a bowl filled to the brim with chopped up fruits in various colors, eggs and bacon, along with a croissant and an array of spreads for the pastry, a glass of lemonade and water, and of course, another with the rose you had seen from across the room. Cataloging that it was actually an impressively diverse choice of food, you turned your gaze to Michael in question.

"Michael, you made all of this? On your own?" you asked as you looked at the adorned tray in absolute awe.

"Not all on my own. Olivia helped me, a lot, actually. I didn't really know where to begin," Michael answered. "I wanted to do something nice for you."

Olivia didn't cook, couldn't cook, shouldn't cook. She was utterly terrible at it, so the fact that she assisted him made you a little uneasy but it's the thought that counts, right?

Nonetheless, you felt your heart swell in response to that.

"Michael, that's really sweet of you, it's so thoughtful. Thank you," you said, your cheeks flushing. You picked up the rose and held it in your hand, twirling the stem in your fingers. "And this?"

"I thought you would like it. You deserve pretty things," Michael told you.

"It's beautiful," you whispered softly, a smile gracing your lips before you dropped it back in the vase and placed it on your nightstand.

"I wanted to surprise you. You're always doing such nice things for me, taking care of me. I wanted to do the same for you," Michael explained, his eyes roaming yours.

You started to munch on the chopped fruit and there was a slight quirk to your lips.

"It's perfect. This is perfect," you replied.

You could see the anticipation in Michael's eyes as you began to pick up the fork. You scooped up a bite of the scrambled eggs onto your fork and lifted it up to your mouth.

While the breakfast plate was presented beautifully, you learned that the actual food quality left much to be desired. The eggs were dry, and the waffle was overcooked. Though, you were not going to criticize the food because it was such a sweet gesture coming from Michael.

You choked it down and quickly took a drink of your lemonade.

"So how is it?" Michael asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

"It's good, really good," you coughed a little before scooping up another bite onto your fork. You popped a piece of the crunchy waffle in your mouth and chewed it carefully before swallowing.

"I'm so glad. I worked really hard on it," Michael replied, feeling a sense of triumph.

Michael was smiling, it was one of those warm smiles, too. He looked happy. It suited him. Again, he was a sunbeam made flesh, and it warmed you through.

Your eyes lifted, and you turned so you could lean over to press a kiss against Michael's cheek. It wasn't just a peck, either. You lingered, and Michael leaned into it as best he could. "Thank you for this," you said softly, "for everything. This is really nice."

"I want to make you happy. I don't want to disappoint you anymore," Michael said with a slight frown, as if he couldn't bear the thought.

You rested your head against Michael's shoulder for a long moment.

"I just want things to always be like this. Peaceful," you whispered.

"I'd like that," Michael replied simply.

It was another few moments before you sat back up and you two were in comfortable silence. That was something Michael had never really expected, but with you it was easy to fall into. With anyone else it felt weird to just be together and not have some kind of conversation going, if only because Michael had often felt far too weird about sharing time and space with someone else, but this was good. He didn't feel like he had to fill the silence. He was happy to just sit in your space, enjoy the feeling of you beside him, and eat with you.

His eyes remained locked on yours and the soft, serene look on his face made your heart pick up in speed. He was looking at you with this fondness, this tenderness, and it made you feel weak in the knees. You found yourself getting lost in the ocean of his eyes and you couldn't even focus on eating anymore. Your cheeks flushed and your hands started to tremble and then all of a sudden, your knee rose up and you tilted the tray on your lap, spilling the lemonade all over your blouse.

"Oh my god!" you squealed and nearly jumped from the bed. It was so cold and the drink was seeping through your clothes.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked, concern etched on his angelic face.

"Yeah, I'm fine!" you said, standing up from the bed.

"Do you need me to get you anything? Like a towel?" he offered, moving the tray aside.

"No, it's okay. I just need to change," you told him, rushing over to the drawers and looking through them until you found a new shirt and a pair of pants. You turned around, ready to get out of those sticky, wet clothes.

You were about to remove your shirt but then you glanced over your shoulder at Michael. "Don't look, okay?"

"Okay," he answered, looking away.

Your back was facing him again, and you started unbuttoning your blouse. That was when he started looking. You weren't too far away from him, you were still in his field of vision but it was slightly obscured by the wall across from him. Though, he could still make out your figure and he caught sight of your black lace bra when you pulled the blouse over your head.

You shimmied out of your pants next, and when you fully removed the material, he saw the black silk panties underneath. Michael couldn't stop looking. He couldn't keep his eyes off of you, and he didn't even blink because he didn't want to miss a single moment. He was entranced by your beauty, absolutely spellbound. His eyes were tracing over every feature of your body, his gaze unwavering.

You slipped on a dark blue t-shirt, tugging it down your body, and then stepped into your pants. You started fixing your hair as it was still a total mess and so you weren't ready when you felt Michael's hand on your shoulder, and you gasped, whirling around and almost falling back, but he steadied you, making sure you wouldn't wobble backward.

Michael leaned forward, his hand moving from your shoulder to your neck, and you thought everywhere he touched you would break out in gooseflesh, your body yearning for him to hold you.

"Michael?" you breathed out, and you were so damn hopeful. He could break you if he wasn't careful, right there.

Because he was so close to your face, you thought you would go cross eyed.

You looked over him, taking his expression in the pale light. He had a peculiar look on his face, one that seemed both observant and gentle.

When all he answered you was with your name, low and warm and wanting, both your hands came to his chest as you leaned to him.

You heard him take in a shaky breath.

"Do you want me to-" he started and then stopped himself to rephrase, "C-Can I..."

Yes. Yes, you damn well did.

And you were sick of waiting.

One of your palms came up from his chest to cup the back of his head, and you stood up on tiptoes, bringing your faces together and cutting him off mid-sentence.

And for a moment, he didn't do anything, and the world was frozen in place.

He shattered it when his free arm wrapped around you, around your shoulders, pressing you closer and breathing hard through his nose as he kissed you back.

You two drew together in another kiss – still hesitant, but soft. But there was something lurking just beneath the surface of your gentle first touches. You had caught one another in your gravitational pull – the collision was inevitable, you realized, breathing in the warm puffs of Michael's breath – but you wanted more.

His lips were soft, his hold on you firm, and when he opened his mouth to you, he groaned from somewhere in his throat and your legs felt weak at the sound. You didn't know how long you two stayed like that, with him hunched over to accommodate your smaller form, his hand stroking down your back, his lips warm and welcoming on your own, but when you pulled away, you thought it wasn't long enough.

Breathing hard, you pressed your foreheads together. His gaze clung to yours, speaking a language that couldn't be put into words. It was enough to translate how much he'd been holding back, how much he'd thought about this moment, just as you had.

"Yeah," you said, bumping your noses. "Yeah, I want you to-"

This time, when he tilted his head and kissed you, the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, and when you fell back to the mattress, he didn't steady you to keep you upright, only following you and catching himself on his palms. You gasped, and it gave him ample opportunity to slide his tongue along your lower lip, feeling you heat up beneath him. The temperature of the entire room seemed to rise as he traced over your teeth, exploring your mouth meticulously and you moaned softly, pursing your lips and sucking on his tongue.

Michael's hips bucked against you, and you almost felt dazed, your mind hazy as he shifted. You felt his hand in your hair, the fingers looping through your messy strands, and you grasped onto the back of his shirt for some kind of leverage.

It was happening. It was really happening. You couldn't believe it. It felt so soon yet so right at the same time. You kept your eyes shut as he groaned his pleasure, and slowly, he settled onto his knees, his hands coming to your sides with a slowness that was already driving you mad.

You were warm and responsive and alive.

And you could feel how his heart was nervously fluttering. The giddiness started to overwhelm him. He was kissing you. It was something that he wanted to do right after you comforted him, after you wiped the tears from his face, but now he had you, and he was so happy. The air felt thick as you took a deep breath in through your nose, tilting your head to kiss him harder, and your hands ran over his arms, stroking softly and craving to feel every inch of his skin.

When his hands came to your hips, you opened your mouth to him, grinding against the leg he had between your own, and he dragged his touch upward, shoving your shirt with the motions, exposing you. The kiss was fierce, heated. You didn't think you ever wanted to stop kissing him. You would breathe him in until it was the only air you knew, you had him again, he was yours, and you were his.

It was all intensifying so fast, your head was spinning. But you loved it, wanted it, needed it. And as his nails softly came over your sides, you squirmed slightly, smiling against his mouth.

You had barely even touched him, yet, but he already felt like he was spiraling out of his skin, hurtling toward an abyss that threatened to swallow him whole. You tasted like lemonade, like maple. You were plush and soft and pliant beneath him and he didn't know what to do. He felt your skin beneath his palms and felt like every nerve inside of him was tingling. There was an overwhelming heat building in his body at being allowed to touch you. He couldn't get enough of your kiss while he let his curious hands rove over you.

Michael's hands went clumsy as he lifted the hem of your shirt, scrunching the fabric underneath your breasts as he traced over the curve of your waist, fingertips drumming over your rib cage. When you squirmed in reaction, he kept drumming, licking at your lower lip and breathing hard through his nose.

He only broke away when you did, letting loose a small giggle, and he looked down at you, focusing once more. He was too in his head, locked away in his thoughts, that he hadn't even noticed the way your smile seemed to bloom over your face.

For a brief moment, he wondered if you were laughing at him, and he felt his ears heat up. But as he paid more attention, eyes tracing over your body, he noted that you only squirmed when he traced over your side, and he lifted a brow, a smirk stretching across his lips.

Slowly, he pulled away his hands, only tracing one finger down your side and then back up, barely even touching you. But you giggled once more, fidgeting beneath him and his grin spread over his face. It was too relieving, to go from the dreary, heavy emotions he'd been coping with for too long, listening in to your joy. It had been such a long time since he heard such genuine laughter.

"Are you ticklish, angel?" Michael asked, continuing to stroke your side as you squirmed, your laughter becoming louder.

"N-No, I'm-" you broke off to squeal, since he had gently pinched your side, now fully taking advantage of how sensitive you were, and you took in fast gasps of air between your peals of laughter. "Not ticklish!" you finished, your hands coming up to his shoulders and gently pushing him.

"M-Michael!" you choked out, but the pressure against his shoulders was light. He knew if you genuinely wanted him off of you, you would have thrown him against a wall. And something about that thought, how vulnerable and open you were with him in that moment, and how strong and powerful you were in general, made his temperature rise.

He didn't know when his smirk had turned into a smile, morphing so genuinely and honestly that he was caught off guard, but he was charmed by you. He had been charmed by you since the moment he met you, though he didn't quite understand it. There was so much he didn't understand, so much he thought he was finally starting to piece together.

But, at the moment, he didn't want to dissect things and click puzzle pieces in a coherent pattern. You had kissed him back, you had laughed because of him, found joy because of him. He felt like no one had ever cared so much for him, before, as much as you did. Arguably, no one did, now. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he had you beneath him, on the bed you two shared, your comforter a halo around your entire body as you sunk into the mattress, and he got to look down at you. He couldn't deny it, how he felt when he saw you so happy, a flush settling over your face. As his ministrations let up, the tickling winding down, leaving your chest heaving and your breathing heavy, he knew he wanted to see you flushed for a different reason.

He bent over, kissing the corner of your mouth as he scrunched your shirt up even higher. You hummed in contentment, arching to him and throwing an arm around his neck to tug him closer to you, letting you explore the taste of him. It was so familiar and made you feel nostalgic for the Michael you once knew, the Michael you adored and hated at the same time, but he was still your Michael. There was such innocence and tenderness to this Michael, and things were different now, but you couldn't help but think back to the one you had such a long and complicated history with.

He groaned against you as you brought your hand between you two, and he felt the back of your hand brush over his chest as you, no doubt, unbuttoned your own blouse. His heart skipped another beat, the permission in your actions, the implications, making him feel like he was going to swallow his own tongue. He had never thought he would be in such a position, when you were smiling against him, your heart thrumming so happily. You bathed everything in a warm, gentle glow. You made him feel relaxed, and yet, the coil in his stomach as your tongue slowly slid over his was undeniable.

Michael assumed you had finished unbuttoning your shirt because you had moved on to his, your fingers hitching at the hem of his shirt. His nerves were jumping as hard as his heart was.

Michael never had sex (this one that is), engaged in coitus, 'made love' before, the phrase making him cringe. Honestly, he didn't believe that he could; make love, that was. Not that he couldn't have sex; he had the parts, knew the motions. But he didn't understand love, couldn't understand it, but it was always something he was curious about.

There was nothing empty about it, now. In fact, he felt like there was too much going on. The farthest thing from empty, he felt like he was going to pop.

At least there were no buttons to deal with in regards to his shirt, he didn't have to think to know how to remove it, and he, almost regretfully, pulled away from you to loop the material up his body until he could throw it to the side, exposing his torso to you.

But any thoughts left his head as he looked down at you. Your blouse was open, revealing more of your soft skin, but he focused decidedly more upward, and the black bra you were wearing underneath.

The heat that had pooled beneath his skin seemed to intensify. He swallowed hard, looking at you. The material of your bra was still covering your breasts, hiding the majority of the flesh from his gaze. He was only privy to your cleavage, and it was the context that made him feel like the air was suddenly thicker. You looked up at him, slowly coming to one of your elbows, and the material fell even farther.

He didn't have the time to hide how sharply he inhaled, seeing the cloth open and slide down your arms. You reached behind yourself and unhooked your bra, allowing it to fall with your blouse, tossing the clothes aside, and he saw the way the cool air made your nipples pucker.

Or perhaps, it wasn't the cool air, at all. Slowly, as though afraid you would startle him, you reached out and he nearly jolted at the feeling of your soft fingers trailing down his inner arm until you got to his wrist. As you felt his pulse, which had skyrocketed at the sight of you, you felt yourself blush, fidgeting. He must have looked frightened, or off guard, because you flinched away for a moment, hunching your shoulders in.

His gaze traced over the curves of you, from your navel to your two full, plush breasts, up to the column of your neck, and the delicate slope of your jaw. His eyes settled on your lips as they parted, and the sight of them, darkened from the kissing and slightly swollen, caused a shiver of pleasure to run through him.

"Michael?" you asked, and he could have burst at the sight of your lips shaping his name. "Do you... want to?"

He blinked a few times, his mind slowly chugging along behind him. "What?" he asked, only partially understanding the question. He was still too wrapped up in the fact that this was happening, and there was something about your body that was making the coil in his stomach tighten. All his blood was rushing south, and he felt tense, like he was wired too high. You bit at your lip, the lips he wanted so badly to kiss again, the lips he wanted to shape his name, and your cheeks flushed further.

"Do you want to?" you repeated, looking like you were ready to pull the comforter over you and hide.

You were so vulnerable. Not always, rarely ever, but in that moment, certainly. He blinked at you, almost incredulously. How could he not want to? How could you not see how much you were affecting him, how the sight of your skin, bared to him without hesitation, had almost instantly made him feel like a spring wound too tightly? He had never understood it, before, never thought he'd have the experience he was having, but there, with you, in the middle of the morning, he had never wanted anything more.

He murmured your name, and his body moved without his permission, hand coming out to cup your cheek. Your hair was messy, strands sticking out, and his fingers played with them for a few moments before your shoulder became trapped between his palm and your warm, responsive skin. You, instead of flinching from his destructive, ruinous touch, only leaned to him. In fact, your face turned slightly as you kissed his palm, and your hand reached out to place itself stop his, pressing him closer. He whispered your name again, feeling something inside of his chest stutter at the sight of you.

"Well?" you asked against his touch, and he felt your lips move against his skin, wanting to feel them everywhere on him. "Do you?"

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, your eyes fluttered shut, your skin warm against his hold on you. "You don't have to," you reassured him. "`We can just-"

"Angel," he said, amusement coloring his voice as his other hand came to cradle your face, thumbs stroking your cheek as he leaned over you. "Yes."

He closed the gap between you two, gently cupping your jaw as he connected your mouths, and you made a soft, pleased noise against him as he did. The sound was intoxicating enough as it was, something he wanted to hear more of, but aided with the feeling of you as you arched to him, your bare breasts pressing to his chest, made him feel electric. The sparks in the air could have well been imagined, or they could have been the result of your tender soul coming out to twine with his.

Michael let one hand drop from your face, instead coming to his shirt and fully tugging it off, tossing it to the side with your own as he settled more fully on his knees and eased you onto your back. You went without any resistance, your hands coming to his hips, and pulling at his pants as he sucked on your cupid's bow.

Kissing you was incomparable to anything else. Your lips were responsive to his, the soft intakes of air that you stole in the swift moments you two were disconnected were sweet and soft. He felt the fluttering of your eyelashes tickle his cheek, the slickness of your tongue as it traced his lip line. And between those moments, those sensations, he continued stroking your cheekbone as though in reward. You tugged at the material of his pants, but you forgot to undo the button and pull down the zipper, so you let loose a frustrated noise when the material didn't go anywhere.

He hummed in amusement, pulling away from you and smiling. Your gaze locked onto his and you huffed, pulling at his pants once more as though to tell him to deal with it, and he chuckled deep in his throat as he released his hold on you to undo the button, pulling down the zipper and shimmying the cloth off of him. You blinked up at him, as though memorizing what he looked like, and your heart sped up, as you looked over his body.

He didn't stop you when your hands came to his chest, when your fingers felt over his soft and unmarred flesh. He was as beautiful as you remembered. His beauty was angelic. He was perfect. There was a tenderness to your touch as you slowly, as though memorizing, traced down to his hip bones. He had never been touched like that, before, like he was something worth treasuring, something, someone, delicate and worthy of care. As your hands brushed downward, your palms found the waistband of his boxers, slung low on his body from having been dragged down slightly with his pants.

This time, you didn't ask if you could take the material off. You knew you could. There was a warm look in his eye that encouraged you, showed how eager he was, not to mention the physical signs of his arousal were evident enough to you, and you brushed over his erection, forcing him to hiss in a breath at the sudden feeling, the sensitivity. Your gaze flicked up to lock on his as you slowly, almost teasingly, pushed his boxers down, being particularly careful not to catch them on anything that was particularly tender at the moment. His hips flexed at the cool air, and he closed his eyes, letting his head fall back.

When he felt your touch, hesitant and gentle and so fucking good on him, he couldn't help but buck to your hand. Your touch made him feel electric as your thumb came over the head of his cock. He groaned, trying not to move his hips for more friction.

He looked absolutely breathtaking with his eyes heavily lidded, the desire in him swelling up until his tongue felt thick and his mind heavy. He dropped his head forward as you stroked over him, one finger tracing the sensitive vein on the underside and he choked, hips stuttering forward.

If you kept doing that, he was going to unravel, and the very thought of doing so before he'd pleased you was too embarrassing to think about. He grabbed your wrist, not tight enough to hurt you, but enough to catch you off guard as he shuffled over you once more, bringing your hand above your head. Carefully, he leaned over and kissed your cheek, trailing to your earlobe. As he nuzzled you, taking in the scent of your shampoo, he worried the skin of your earlobe between his teeth, listening in to your whimper.

His free hand moved down your body, skipping over your breasts entirely as he brought his touch between your thighs, and you cried out, the sound so close to his ear that it felt like everything was amplified, louder than it truly was. When he reached the line of your panties, your soft breaths got harder, your body arching against his even as he kept one hand captive, and slowly, he brought his middle finger between your lips, feeling your dampness.

You were so wet, and he trailed his finger down to your opening, feeling just how slick you were for him. The thought made him groan deeply, the sound no doubt felt by you, since you gasped, wriggling your hips. But he wasn't ready to slide into you, not yet. The sadistic side of him wanted to bring you to the very edge, first, and his hand pushed against the fabric of your panties as he parted you, fingers feeling for your clit. He knew he found it when he felt the smoothness, and the pleasure spiked so high that it resulted in a full body shiver, making his pulse jump, and you bucked against him. As he stroked over you, listening to your wail, he finally began to trail kisses down your body.

Pausing for a moment to suck on your pulse, feeling how hard your heart was beating, he only continued moving down. Over your collarbones and between your breasts. He released his hold on your wrist to, instead, cup you even as his fingers kept moving over your slickness, and you arched against him as he ran his thumb over your nipple. You cried out at the action, and he kneaded at your skin, glancing up to see your expression.

Your lips were parted, eyes closed as you took in deep, shuddering breaths, your face flushed. He memorized the image, rubbing you slower and watching as you cried out again, your hands flailing around for a moment before one came to the headboard, grasping it hard, and the other found his hair, your fingers tangling. He kissed between your breasts once more, the rotation of his wrist starting to ache, but he didn't let up, rewarded by the twitch of your thighs and your gentle calls of his name. As he licked your nipple, taking it in his mouth and sucking, he finally traced his touch between your thighs down to your opening, and he circled you a few times before, slowly, he sunk his middle finger in to the knuckle, making sure to catch the front of your walls.

Your cry was different than before, higher and you bucked more aggressively against him as he crooked his finger, rubbing at you from the inside. You were chanting his name on a loop, and he could feel the pleasure mounting in your body as he moved from one breast to the other, cupping it before kissing the hardened peak.

When he slid a second finger into you, moving the two together, you bucked, voice high and breathy as a "Please," slipped out, tatters of his name lining your mouth, and he moved from your breasts, down to your navel, looking up at you as your head moved side to side. His wrist was killing him, the motions, done without rest, making his hand cramp, but he didn't ease up until your toes were curling and he could feel that you were right there.

As he stopped, hitching his fingers of his free hand beneath the elastic of your panties and tugging them off, sliding his previously occupied fingers out of you at the same time, you swiveled your hips. It wasn't that he was trying to deny you an orgasm, one you rightfully deserved, it was just that he wanted to be in you when you experienced it. He wanted to feel your body against his as you throbbed and tightened, clenching involuntarily as he brought you to climax, and the thought of it made his breath shallow. He kissed your stomach once more before he grasped one of your legs, hitching it around him and brought himself up to your face to kiss you.

His fingers, still slick with you, ran over his cock, and he almost hissed with relief at the feeling. The slickness, the heat, the image of you writhing at what he was doing was too much. He felt like, if he didn't find his way inside of you, he would simply spiral inside of his own skin until he was lost. Likewise, however, was the thought of being in you.

His thumb dabbed at the precum that was dripping out of him, and he would have been embarrassed at how much there was if it weren't for the fact that you had left a wet spot on the sheets. In fact, you had dampened his entire palm with how wet you were, and he stroked himself to distribute the slickness, aligning your hips as he delicately nipped at your lower lip. One of your hands came to his cheek, cradling him even as your other wrapped around his neck, clutching his body to you. Your leg hitched higher about his waist, the other joining until the heels of your feet were pressing onto his lower back.

As he positioned himself, he finally pulled away from your mouth, looking down at your face with something indescribable swelling in his chest as he caught your serene expression.

You were a sight. Your lips, now more swollen than before, were parted with your panting. Your cheeks were high in color, your eyes almost black with how blown wide your pupils were.

You caressed his jaw, and he felt you smile against him as you tipped your chin up, kissing his cheek. There was a warm smile on his face and you rose up to kiss him quickly on the lips. His hand settled next to your head, and you let your touch on his jaw drop so you could trace over his shoulder, down his arm, until you wormed your hand beneath his, twining your fingers.

"Are you ready?" he asked, voice dropping to a whisper, and your heels dug into his lower back, pushing him forward a few centimeters as you nodded, squeezing his hand as you pulled him down, using the arm around his neck to connect your mouths once more.

He only waited a moment, letting it sink in, before he guided himself into you, and you swallowed his groan as he did so, your own moan muffled by his mouth as he slid into you for the first time, you two were now joined.

Fuck, he could have spilled himself right then. You felt so good.

He was unprepared, inexperienced, and he shuddered when he inched into you. You called out his name as he pressed in, stretching you further, and you arched in pleasure as the natural curve of him dragged over your walls. You tightened around him as a result, gasping.

He choked out your name against your lips, immediately pausing and dropping his hold on himself to fist the sheets, instead. He could almost feel that, if he were to keep moving, he'd lose it right there, and yet, even just being inside of you with no motion at all was making the heat that pooled beneath his skin feel overwhelming. You writhed, wanting to take more of him inside, and he cried out, clenching his eyes shut as he moved from your mouth, hiding his face against your shoulder.

"I- a minute-" he managed to stutter out, and you rubbed at the back of his neck, hitching your legs higher around him as he collected himself. He was barely a few inches in, but even that felt amazing, and you moaned as he stretched you, telling him how good he felt. You were ready for him, he could tell by your slick heat, how he could feel your pulse around him, and he didn't want to leave you unfulfilled. He just needed a moment to collect himself. He remembered overhearing talk of disappointing flings, faked intimacy.

But it didn't feel fake. It felt overwhelmingly real; not just the physical aspect of it, but the rest, what he was grasping at with stumbling fingers, that rounded out what being intimate meant.

He didn't know how to do this. He felt clumsy, his lack of experience was no doubt showing, and he surprised himself that he still had some semblance of control, that he didn't immediately spill himself inside of you, bucked and moved and found his own pleasure inside of you as you were left to hold him. No, he didn't want that. He wanted to feel you twitch and shudder against him, to feel you bite his shoulder to try to hold down your cries, to feel the warmth that was you. He sucked in a harsh breath against your skin, closing his eyes as he sucked at your pulse, listening to your whimper as he inched deeper inside of you.

The room was hot. You were hot, impossibly slick, impossibly perfect around him. You pushed against him, urging him on as you adjusted yourself beneath him, moving your hips around to accept him in you.

And slowly, he found his rhythm, making certain that he aimed upward, rubbing over your front walls, stimulating you further. Your cries were soft and genuine, and it told him everything, what was working and what wasn't, and when the hand that wasn't holding your own came back between your thighs, rubbing once more, the immediate pleasure that yawned in you shuddered through the both of you.

And with it, you opened your mouth, your voice high and breathless when you almost let "I love you," slip out.

No, you couldn't say that out loud. You couldn't. There was so many reasons why you couldn't, why you shouldn't. The words were on your tongue, but they remained unspoken. But you still wanted to tell him how much he meant to you.

"Michael, I'm yours. I'm all yours," you breathed out.

He stopped completely, his eyes widening as he shook, and your own eyes went wide as he did so. When you opened your mouth to ask him what was wrong, he only kissed you, fiercely, hard, his rhythm in you faltering as he started up again, hearing your whimper as he continued. As he pulled away, you kept your mouth open, shreds of his name passing by your lips, but he was losing himself in you and he knew it, finding his completion as he desperately rubbed you.

"Say-say it-it again," he demanded, kissing over your jaw, sucking hard at the underside, listening to your yelp.

"Michael, I'm yours," you said around a breathy cry. "I need you."

The immediate spike of pleasure ran through him like an electric current and he said, "Again," once more, unable to control his breathing as it broke up the words, but you said it again, calling it out into the air, into the heat of the room, and found that he had lost all sense of control, his head spinning as you chanted. He called your name on a loop, repeating it mindlessly as he drove himself into you, his frantic rubbing making your thighs twitch.

"I-I need you so much. I want you, and only you," you continued.

He was under your spell, but you were under his, too.

He was so close. He wanted to sob against your skin as you pulled and tightened around him, and his hold on your hand had gone almost bone-white. Your own grasp only got more firm as you came to the precipice, too, where he was waiting for you to fall so he could catch you.

As he reared up, kissing you and unable to hold back anymore, your legs tightened around him, your back arching high against him as you shuddered and trembled, your orgasm shuddering through you and through him as he spilled himself, everything intense and too bright and too sensitive.

The world could have fallen around his ears; his head was spinning, his body twitching and spent, every muscle in him relaxing immediately. He didn't have the good sense to roll, taking you with him, and instead, you yelped softly when he landed on you, his knees weak. He felt dazed, like he was falling to madness yet not, like his head wasn't screwed on the right way.

You were whimpering when he finally caught enough sense of himself to realize he was crushing your smaller form. Mustering all the energy he had, he rolled to his back, and the action pulled him out of you. You were shuddering in his hold, and he wrapped an arm around you, breathing hard, your hands still twined together. You were pressing your cheek to his, and when his mind caught up to him, he realized that you were still saying his name.

When your cheek was pressed against his, you felt that it was wet. You looked him over and his cheeks had been delicately stained with tears. Lazily, he blinked his eyes and released a shallow breath.

As the heat died down, ebbing away and being replaced by the slight chill in your room, he released his hold on you long enough to grasp a blanket, throwing it on top of you two and holding you close.

"Michael..." you said, and though your voice was tired, he could make out the contentment. It inspired him to tangle your legs together. Michael sighed, allowing a few more breaths to delve deep into his lungs and it seemed that everything you did, he found endearing.

"Yes?" he asked, stroking over your hair.

"I'm glad you're here with me," you told him, and you felt him rub a circle between your shoulder blades.

"Me too," he whispered, finally regaining his breath as he settled, pliant and relaxed against the mattress, and you settled against him in the same way. Slowly, you turned your head, kissing him on the cheek and adjusting yourself so you were resting your head on his shoulder. "Please don't ever leave. Please always stay with me. I need you."

You remembered the first time he told you he needed you. It was under grim circumstances and when you were at a crossroads between him and your coven, and the familiarity of it seemed to spark something in you, and there was something else, trust and faith and comfort, that hummed over his words.

"I won't. I won't ever leave you," you answered, and he wondered just when you'd gotten under his skin, worked your way beneath his sternum. His hold on you tightened, fingers playing at the still flushed flesh of your hip, your body glowing in undeniable proof of your climax.

He didn't want to let go of you.

Hours passed and darkness had crept over your room. Your eyes blinked open and you were rudely awoken by a loud, persistent noise outside. You tugged the blanket wrapped around you and untangled yourself from the warmth of Michael's body, standing up from the bed.

You peered outside the window and felt your pulse race at the sight before you.

There were numerous crows flying about the space above the house and the sky was painted in a darkened orange, a series of loud caws ringing in your ears. You recalled what Miriam told you when she brought Michael to your house, she described it as the crows worshiping from above the infamous Murder House. You heard the same thing from Behold and Madison. They knew he was here.

You remembered a spell Zoe once taught you about removal of negative and bad energy, how to cleanse the space around you through the elimination of unwanted elements in the atmosphere.

You started the incantation aloud, repeating it three times before the sky completely cleared up and the crows flew away, no longer surrounding the house. The sky was blue again and you could hear the soft pleasant sound of birds cooing in the distance.

You released a sigh of relief, breathing in the air, and a smile graced your lips.

Not today, Satan. Not today.


	21. The Road Trip

They wouldn't stop coming. The crows. Almost every day, they would return, and it seemed like every time they came back, there was more than the last time. They especially came at night but they would arrive during the day, too.

Olivia would come out of her room when she heard all the noise outside and start to freak out.

"Oh my god, what's attracting them to this place? Is it the end of the world? What the hell is going on?" she asked aloud.

"No, it's not the end of the world," you told her, even though you hardly believed the words yourself.

But wasn't Michael considered to be the bringer of the End of Days?

No, you had to block those thoughts out of your head. He could be helped. He could be saved. This wasn't his fate. You were sure this could be reversed.

"Then what the fuck is going on? I don't understand! I just want them to go away!" Olivia raised her voice over the sound of the crows cawing.

You would then tell her to go back inside and she would listen, eventually, not without bickering for a while, though.

It almost became a routine of yours to wish the worshiping crows away, but eventually, it felt like it was becoming stronger, and you had to muster more of your strength and power into the spell in order to get rid of them, it was taking more out of you.

In the beginning, you didn't say anything to Michael about it, but this quickly became a constant occurrence, and so you could only hold off on telling him for so long.

"They're here for me. I-I don't know how to make them go away," Michael told you in a small voice, a look of dread etched on his face. "It's my fault. They wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

"It's okay, it's okay," you reassured him. "I'll get rid of them."

And that was what you did. Over and over and over again.

Then one day, you had to deal with a bigger issue than the ominous crows.

You were preparing dinner when Olivia approached you with some bad news.

"Miriam keeps calling, she wants to talk to you," Olivia started, handing you her cellphone. "She said you won't answer her calls or texts."

You sent her a text shortly after you had everything in order with Michael's staying here, telling her that you wouldn't be coming back home, and you had been ignoring her multiple texts and phone calls. Eventually she stopped trying to reach you because you wouldn't answer her. But now it looked like she was hassling your best friend about it, instead.

"What? And you answered her? I told you not to answer her calls if she tries to contact you!" you scolded her, a fiery glare on your face.

"She wouldn't stop blowing up my phone! She was calling and calling and then she sent me threatening texts, telling me she'd sacrifice me to Satan and then feed me to some goat god if I didn't answer her. I don't wanna die!" Olivia yelled back at you in her defense.

"And I don't want to talk to her! You shouldn't have picked up!" you shot back.

"She's not taking no for an answer. She knows you're here. Just hear what she has to say because I can't take it anymore," Olivia persisted, waving her smartphone in your face.

You frowned at her before grabbing her cellphone, reluctantly answering. "What do you want?"

"Where have you been? Why the hell won't you come back home?" Miriam barked at you.

"I don't want to go back. It was hell living there," you told her bitterly.

"Whether you like it or not, that's where you'll be burning with me," Miriam warned. "It's been several weeks, and you left without saying a word except for that sorry excuse for a text! 'Sorry Mom, I'm not coming back home!'" she said, doing a poor imitation of your voice. "I thought you were just going to throw your little temper tantrum and then you'd be back in a few days, but no, you're doing this to spite me aren't you? What's going on? Did you run away with some boy? And Olivia is covering for you?" Miriam continued. You could hear the anger in her voice.

"Mom, I'm not coming back. I'm sorry. But hey, look on the bright side you can let some psycho have my room now, again," you spat.

"Oh come on honey, when are you gonna get over that? Just come back home and we can talk things out!" Miriam demanded.

"Mom, not this time," you stressed.

"Why not? We've always done it before! You just left me, what's a mother supposed to do? This is not like you. Usually you always make some dramatic exit," Miriam said, recalling all the times you had done that, and it was a lot.

"I'm sorry but I just can't. You won't have to worry about me anymore," you told her, feeling a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach. She was still your mother, at the end of the day.

"I'm coming over right now. We are going to talk things out, missy, I don't care what you say," Miriam began, not taking no for an answer.

"No, don't come over! Seriously, don't," you snapped. No, she couldn't come over. She couldn't meet Michael. He couldn't meet the Satanists. You already knew what the outcome would be if they met.

"Too late! I'm on my way," Miriam said before hanging up immediately, dismissing you.

"Shit," you cursed under your breath and handed Olivia her phone back.

"What happened?" Olivia asked.

"She's coming over, but I won't be here. Neither will Michael. Don't let her in if you can help it, okay?" you explained.

"What? What's going on? Why do you guys have to leave?" Olivia questioned, her brows furrowed together in confusion.

"I don't have time to explain. Just tell her that I'm not here anymore, please," you begged.

"Where are you guys gonna go?" Olivia asked, but you were already running off to get Michael in your room. "Okay, I'll just stay back here, and try not to get killed by your mother," Olivia half-joked, an expression that said 'yikes' on her face.

You rushed to the room and found Michael on the bed in his pajamas. He was playing video games.

"Michael, we have to go," you told him solemnly.

"What? Why?" he asked, pausing his game.

"We have to go, now. Grab your stuff and then we're leaving," you instructed, your tone leaving no room for debate.

"Did something happen?" he asked as he started to stuff his belongings in a bag. You did the same and had trouble meeting his worried gaze.

"We just can't stay here any longer. But don't worry, I have it all figured out, everything's under control," you said with a weak smile. You didn't know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. "We weren't supposed to stay here as long as we did, anyway."

"Why? I liked it here," Michael replied with a frown, a crease in his brows.

"The crows won't leave. I used to be able to make them go away for a few days, but they just keep coming and I don't know what to do, anymore," you answered, half-lying to him. That was part of the reason, but you couldn't tell him the part about Miriam.

"So we have to leave because of me?" Michael whispered, looking like a kicked puppy.

"No, not because of you, because of the crows," you replied simply.

"But the crows are here because of me," Michael said, looking back at you and zipping his bag.

That was totally true. You just didn't want to make him feel bad.

"Michael, stop. It's okay. Everything's fine," you assured. "You trust me, right?"

Michael nodded his head. "Yeah, yeah I do."

"Good. Let's go now," you smiled at him and left the room with Michael by your side.

You snatched Olivia's car keys that was sitting on the counter.

"We are taking your car. We'll try to bring it back. Thank you, I love you!" you called out to her as you headed to the front door, making a speedy exit.

"You better, I'm gonna need that back!" Olivia raised her voice at you but you were already out the door. "Whatever, it's not like I leave the house anyway."

When you left the house, you looked up and saw the crows were covering the sky once again, under the ominous grey clouds, cawing as they encircled above you.

You rushed to the car with Michael, throwing the bags in the backseat, and started driving off quickly without looking back. Michael, on the other hand, was staring out the window as the birds slowly faded from view. The sky quickly shifted to shades of blue and the clouds thinned out.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked, turning to you.

"Miss Robichaux's Academy," you answered, glancing back at him with a warm smile, though you couldn't help but start to feel a sense of anxiety about it. What if they wouldn't help him? What if they couldn't? What if they shunned him away? What would your next move be then? You tried to stray away from those thoughts. You had to be strong, for the both of you.

"You're going to be good, right? You're going to let them help you and guide you, and you're not going to lash out at them if something doesn't go your way or if you don't understand something. You won't dare hurt them, ever, right?" you asked, your eyes drifted from the road to look at Michael again.

"I promise," Michael said with a nod of his head. "Do you think they can really help me?" he questioned, a somber expression on his face. He was having his doubts, too.

"Yes, they will be able to help you," you reassured. "I know it."

"I trust you," he echoed, making your lips curve into a genuine smile. "I'd go anywhere with you, follow you wherever."

Your heart swelled in your chest. You let the words float between you two for a moment, a tiny sparked ember of hope.

"Do you trust me?" he asked suddenly, needing more reassurance from you.

"Of course I do," you smiled as your gaze shifted back to the road.

He couldn't understand why you believed in him, why you were helping him. He needed you, wholeheartedly, and you weren't going to let him down. There was a way to save the Antichrist. That was what you kept telling yourself anyway.

It was supposed to just be a road trip. But somehow it felt like more than that. It had this air of finality about it.

You noticed that Michael had been taking in every bit of the scenery as you drove further and further away.

It hit you, in that moment, that Michael hadn't seen much of the world. He hadn't seen much outside of Constance's home.

There was a tenderness to his face, he was in absolute awe. He wanted to see as much of the natural beauty of Earth as possible.

He looked beautiful.

It took your breath away.

His hand sought yours. And you reached your hand out that wasn't on the wheel, intertwining your fingers with his, feeling them strong and warm. He lifted your hand up to press a gentle kiss upon your skin, and you felt your heart stutter in your chest.

You were his light. His joy. His anchor. You were the star, burning brightly and loudly. Michael was the darkness that would eventually surround the star, crushing every last bit of beauty and light from its once burning core. Michael wanted nothing more than to absorb that light and let it twine through his own soul, become someone worthy enough to be loved.

You had expected the trip to Louisiana to take over 28 hours, more adding in the stops along the way, but you were just happy to have Michael by your side and so was he.

An hour later the city disappeared in a trail of overpasses and traffic lights, the sun had set and had taken with it the oppressive heat of the day. As you weaved through the winding roads that led into the mountains, cool even air streamed in through the open windows. The only light was the soft glow of the speedometer and the blur of streetlights behind you two. You had been listening to the GPS to direct you.

You looked over at Michael sleeping in the passenger seat, his face pressed up against the half-open window. He was sound asleep. He was a heavy sleeper.

You smiled. He was going to have one hell of a funny line across his cheek when he finally did wake up.

His jacket was draped over him like a blanket, and the wind ruffled his hair. The moonlight reflecting off of the painted lines on the road danced across his features. He looked like a sleeping angel.

After driving for a little while longer, your stomach started to grumble. You figured it was taking to take a break. You woke up Michael and asked him what he wanted before entering the drive thru of a fast food restaurant, ordering burgers and fries for the both of you.

When the food arrived you two started eating, happy to be finally filling your stomachs with some much needed grease.

"So is this part of the road trip experience? Lots of unhealthy food?" Michael asked, munching on a fry and finishing the remnants from the fry container.

"Yes, of course. It's the best part," you answered with a giggle, taking a sip of your soda.

"Your laugh is so beautiful. I don't think I could ever tire of hearing that sound," Michael commented, staring back at you with such a fondness in his face, like you had the power to light his whole world. He somehow found everything you did to be endearing in some way.

You always seemed at a loss for words when Michael would compliment you. You would often take too long trying to think of the right response before you would coyly say, "Thank you."

Your gazes held, both of them blinking and quaking with lurching, unspoken desires, and the piercing blue of his eyes left you completely and utterly captivated.

He was smiling at you before his arm came around you, sliding up your back to tangle itself in your hair, drawing you close to him and then pressing his lips upon yours. Your blood was thrumming, your body trembling slightly with pent-up energy instead of nerves, and you allowed it to guide your own hand to Michael's jaw and you obliged him. You both inhaled deeply, unwilling to break apart again, and surged forward like waves crashing into each other.

Your hands framed Michael's face, thumbs tracing the strong structure of his face and your spine shaking as his lips parted. You let Michael guide you, body impossibly warm and mind hazed with need as your tongues met then danced apart, only to meet again moments later.

When you two finally pulled away for air, you weren't surprised in the slightest when Michael maneuvered you both around the car to the backseat. His body was now above you and his lips found yours as his hands moved between your face and your chest, squeezing your breasts through your clothing and then dropping to the buttons on your blouse. An incoherent plea escaped from the back of your throat as his touch worked over your stomach, under your top, clambering to the underside of your bra to smooth fingertips over the thin material, teasing at your hard nipples. You groaned into his mouth and reached around him, gripping his backside and pulling him close so that you could grind your hips up against him.

He rocked against you, kissing you deeply, his tongue pressing hard against yours in a way that you wished he'd press it against your clit. He pulled his mouth away only to nip and lick down your neck, and you scooted further back into the backseat, pulling him after you with hands tight on his backside again. An appreciative sound hummed through his lips as he buried his face within your neck, kissing the base of your throat, his breath teasing goosebumps from your skin.

You kicked your shoes off impatiently and he did the same before kissing you once more, greedily sliding his hands across the sides of your body, helping you guide your shirt up over your head.

You knew this was so very reckless, first of all, it wasn't the smartest idea to be having sex in a car, someone could catch you two and that could create a far bigger problem than your need to be fucked by Michael, and secondly, you knew that you shouldn't be having sex in your friend's car. But both things simultaneously created a jolt of a thrill for you. Something about Michael just made you crave to be sinful, made you crave to indulge in every little thing your past inhibitions had held you back from. Michael was a bad influence on you, or perhaps you were both a bad influence on each other.

As soon as your shirt was gone he plunged his face towards your breasts, his breath hot down your cleavage, mouth sucking and nipping at each swell down to the edge of your bra band. You let yourself moan again, throwing your head back and pushing against his mouth as his fingers worked at the clasp on your back.

He fumbled at it for a few moments until you reached around to release it yourself, and then as soon as the bra fell into your lap he caught one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue over the hard, sensitive tip.

His hands felt like they were all over you, smoothing hot lines across your ribs and up and around your back and sides, one eventually rising to cup the breast his mouth wasn't on, his fingers pinching and twisting at that nipple. His lips wrapped around your right nipple, sucking hard as his tongue set a fluttering pattern behind his lips. You groaned and leaned further into it as the heat of his mouth pulled at you, as his teeth scraped over you with just the slightest pressure, and every touch sent sparks down your back that left you wet and aching until your patience gave out and you pulled his face up to yours again, kissing him hungrily as you began to work on unbuttoning and unzipping your pants. He moved away from you momentarily to pull his own shirt over his head. That was when you switched positions and you were now on top.

You took in his smooth torso, the dusting of hair over soft skin, and abandoned removing your pants to lean forward and drop a line of nips from his collarbone to his navel. He quivered under your fingers, his abdomen shaking as he held his muscles tight, and by the time you brushed over his nipples, he was basically vibrating against your touch.

"Shit," he breathed, whispering your name.

You paused over his nipples, making a soft circle around each one with your index fingers, and then dragged the back of your fingernails over the hardened nubs. He gasped at the sensation, and his fingers closed hard over your hips as he ground himself up underneath you.

You teased him until he was writhing from it, until he was gasping for breath and grunting in a way that made you wonder if you could make him come like this. You didn't have much of a chance to wonder, though, before Michael pulled you up to fold you into another engulfing kiss and you both shivered as your bare chests met. Finally, his hands found your waistband again and began to tug, completing the work you had started. Messily, you raised your body, shucking at the pants with your hips as Michael pulled the material down your thighs and legs. He tugged at your pants more insistently until you kicked one of the two legs fully free, and then he moved your free leg aside, sliding a hand up the inside of your thigh and rubbing a line with his thumb over the damp material of your underwear.

You stifled a curse and arched your back, propping yourself on your elbows and exposing your throat to the roof of the car as Michael rubbed you again with his fingers and the heel of his hand. You let out a shuddering breath and pushed impatiently against his touch; he took the hint and grabbed the waistband of your underwear, peeling it slowly away from your skin. Achingly slowly. You clenched your teeth and felt sweat break out on your temples and chest as he stroked the inside of your thigh again, gradually drawing your pants out of the way.

Opening your legs, he inhaled the same cool air that was scratching your skin and stopped for a second to just look at you, soft and warm, flush face and eyes full of each one of the stars above that spied on you two.

At last he let his thumb push between your hot folds, dipping into the gathering wetness there and sliding a line up over your clit. You gasped, looking down at him, and feeling the skin of your chest burn again as his eyes roved over you, plump lips quirking into a wondering smile. He rubbed his digit gently over your clit at first, circling and adding pressure gradually, until he couldn't wait any longer and moved forward to press his open mouth against you, sweeping over you with his tongue and pressing its tip against you so that you squirmed under him. You moaned and tilted your hips towards him, wordlessly begging for more as the center of you throbbed with need.

He slid one finger and then another deep inside you, making your hips rise up again as he rubbed you gently, his tongue still working against your clit.

You felt dizzy, assailed with vertigo as Michael's touch steadily built up the pressure inside you. It began to break free as a sound in the back of your throat, whimpers tumbling from your lips unevenly until his mouth left you and he clambered closer across your body, reaching so that his hand could still move within and against you. He drew the back of his free hand across his mouth and grinned before leaning down, kissing you and catching the sounds you made. His murmured shushes against your lips just wound you tighter, your mouths sloppy against each other, the taste of yourself covering his tongue and face.

"You taste just like heaven," Michael murmured.

His thumb continued to move back and forth over and around you, flicking and pressing at your clit as you floundered, gasping at his mouth for air, your hands locked in the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Pulsating waves lifted your hips and ass from the leathery surface of the backseat, buffeting you into deep waters you had no control over. Michael kept his mouth on yours even as it opened wide, dragging his teeth across your lips and swallowing the hoarse curse that you let out.

Before the pulses within you had fully receded, he sat up quickly, one hand still sliding over you, but the other fluttering to his own groin, hovering by the pressure in his pants. He closed his eyes and bit his lip hard and the objection you had died on your lips as you too sat up, willing him not to come yet.

You moved his hand off you and knelt in front of him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him gently this time, pressing your lips to his and stroking his sweat-damp temples. After a moment he responded, opening his mouth and slowly pushing his tongue inside yours again.

Carefully, softly, you undid the button of his pants and unzipped it before pushing them down along with his underwear. He fidgeted and twisted so that you could drag the clothes off his body.

You maneuvered him onto his back and pushed his legs aside to kneel between them. Smirking at his pleading expression, you lowered yourself slowly, first to kiss him and draw your hanging breasts across the skin of his chest.

His teeth snagged at his lower lip again. He whispered your name, his eyes wide, vulnerable. Even with nothing but moonlight and two street lights to see by, you could see the red blossoming under Michael's skin. You couldn't help but think that Michael was more than just devilishly handsome – he was ethereal, beautiful, breath-taking. His face was partly cast in shadow, but you could see the way his blue eyes seemed to burn for you.

You continued to move back so that the hot line of his cock was threaded between your breasts. You pressed them together momentarily and he gasped before you moved on, finally taking hold of the stem of his cock and starting to lick around the base of the hard vein there.

You licked the length of his cock and wrapped your mouth around its tip, your tongue fluttering over the slit at the end, pressing and teasing its way around the head. Slowly, you moved your lips lower, gradually taking more of him into your mouth, growing more aware as you did so of the heat swelling again in your own body.

He grunted your name, his hips rocking after you'd managed to work your lips to the base of his cock, feeling its head push against the back of your mouth.

"Mmm," you replied, letting the sounds vibrations run through your lips to the head of his cock as you withdrew your mouth.

He made another helpless sound, but you picked up on what he wanted to say: he wanted to be inside you. Fire bloomed in your stomach and you released his cock from your mouth, crawling up his body again to kiss him, hard. "Yes," you told him. "Yes, I want you inside me."

Michael's hands glided across your skin, squeezing at your breasts, ass, thighs. He swung an arm around your waist and the two of you grappled together as he flipped you onto your back, pushing his cock urgently against your wet slit. Forcing himself to slow down when you let out a desperate breath, he lifted himself up on his arms and guided the tip of his cock against you, sliding through your wetness and rubbing it unevenly against your clit.

You made yourself open your eyes, taking in his loosely dropped eyelids, the soft, asymmetrical 'o' formed by his mouth open, and the way strands of his golden hair clung to the sweat on his forehead. You looked down at the pink head of his cock thrusting up inside your heat, slick with the evidence of your own desire, and an urgent mewl crept out of your mouth again.

A frown of concentration deepened on his forehead, and he pulled back and took a deep breath, looking down at you as though he was trying to remember every detail. You loved the way his eyes seemed to want to close as he pushed up inside of you, the way he fought to keep looking at you. Slowly, he motioned his hips forward, his cock pressing the folds of you aside, filling you smoothly. You rose your hips into it, groaning and pushing back against him.

Michael lowered himself again, his lips finding yours, trembling needily against your mouth as he began to grind his hips against yours. You grabbed them, one hand on each side of him, pulling harder against you as he increased the speed of his movements.

Your mouths and teeth marked trails along each other's necks, Michael once taking the lobe of your ear in his mouth and sucking hard on it so that an utterly unfamiliar sound crawled from your throat. You gripped him with your thighs, feeling your nipples drag against the skin of his chest as he flattened himself to you, burying his sweaty forehead against your neck and shoulder.

He thrust hard against you, straining for more friction, only just mindful of the low ceiling of the car, and his eyes tightened shut, the frown line between his brows lengthening as his mouth hung open. In this hot bubble of the car, your sweat mingling with the heat on your skin and hips frantically meeting, your pants and moans loud as you clung to one another, you might have been the only two beings in the whole universe. His hands skated down your back to clutch at your ass and it was too much sensation to process until he was pressed all the way inside of you.

It was a slow burn until you couldn't take it anymore, until you had to pull back far enough to work your hips harder, faster against him.

Your breathed out his name desperately, and he suddenly found himself very, very close. He held onto you tightly, biting his lip in concentration, as you two continued to move together, hoping to hold back for your sake and for his––not wanting this to end. Again his name was torn from your throat as you keened, slamming your hips into his. He felt you clench tightly around him as the rhythm of your hips faltered, then slowed, then stopped.

You reached a hand down to rub at your clit in quick, heated movements, panting heavily as you felt your heart race wildly. You felt yourself coming again even as his own movements slowed and grew erratic, his face slackening as he finally let himself go inside you, his lips moving silently over words he probably wasn't even aware of.

When you came you cried out, flushed with heat, rocked into it, and a second orgasm hit you almost immediately. Your fingers tightened painfully and he was pushing up into you, his breath stuttering in harsh gasps.

Your pants filled the car, you were both recovering, breathing too hard to get one word out. Sweat trickled down his neck and dripped onto your skin.

Finally letting out a satisfied groan, he lowered himself into your arms again, nuzzling his face against your neck and jawline. You sighed happily and ran your fingers along the soft channel of his spine, feeling his sweat grow cool already. He opened his eyes to see you looking at him, both of you reluctant to move, to disentangle yourselves, despite your more than slightly uncomfortable positions.

You did your best to clean up using a few leftover napkins from the glove box after you two dressed yourselves.

"Olivia's going to kill me," you whispered under your breath, mostly to yourself.

"I know," Michael agreed. "You stole her car and then we fucked in it."

You gave him a look.

"I'm terrible," you said with a puff of a laugh.

"Oh well, it's not like she'll be getting it back any time soon," Michael chuckled, a smirk on his lips.

You were both terrible.

Soon after you two were back on the road as always, listening to some music and exchanging a few sentences every time the name of a new town appeared in the form of a road sign. You kept driving to reach the first available motel in a small town. It was dubious at best, with burnt out light bulbs and cracked pavement, but that was exactly what you two needed. The type of place that asked few questions and preferred cash over credit. The motel only offered you two a room with one bed.

The room had no air conditioning. The night was muggy, heat like wet wool settling on your skin and weighing you two down. Almost all the other rooms were empty, a moonbeam entered from the lowered shutters, walls covered in faded wallpaper. It would have to do, though.

"I'm going to take a shower," you told Michael, throwing your bag to the side of the small bed.

"Okay," Michael answered with a nod of his head. He fell backward onto the bed and sprawled across it, his limbs taking up all the space there was. When he extended, his fingertips reached from one edge of the bed to the other, and his feet hung off the edge by a few inches. This was going to be a tight fit.

You switched the water on and you were quick to undress, leaving your clothes on a heap by the bathroom counter before stepping into the shower. You started humming to yourself as the hot water soothed your bones and drenched your hair. You closed your eyes as you started to rub shampoo in your hair.

You had only been in there for a few minutes before turning around and when you opened your eyes, they were met with an earnest, blue gaze. Michael had decided to join you.

There was a light in his eyes that always made your heart stutter, made you feel treasured. Soaking wet was a good look on him. Not that he ever had a bad look. Such a thing didn't even seem possible for Michael.

"Michael," you whispered, you were swept away straight into a blue-eyed storm, just long enough for the shower door to swing open and your breath to hitch before his hands were wild in your hair and his lips were on yours.

It was light and searching at first, a gentle slide of your lips together as you took solace in having Michael so near. But something about the whole thing––the close quarters of the shower, the steam rising around you two, the slickness of his wet skin, the care with which he kissed you back––made it feel unbearably intimate. It ignited a warmth in your belly that had you suddenly aching for more.

For a shimmering moment, you tasted only his lips, and then he devoured you, and the long, low whimper that poured from you was a sound of sheer surrender.

You kissed him a little more firmly, sucking on his lower lip, and Michael's arms came around you, his hands splayed wide over your skin as they slid down to your lower back, pulling you in against him. Your breasts pressed against his chest and the feeling of his half-hard cock caught between you two which made you moan softly as heat flared in your veins, and you gently slanted your mouth open to deepen the kiss. The velvet slide of his tongue over yours made you shiver, craving more.

You two stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, wrapped around each other as the water beat against your back, trading increasingly heated kisses. You were beginning to feel a little dizzy with desire, wanting more of him and thinking of suggesting you two finish your shower and move things elsewhere, when Michael shifted.

Suddenly he was moving you both, shuffling you two around in a circle and pressing you up against the wall of the shower, his hand flat against the tile next to your head and his other briefly palming your breast before falling to grip your hip as he laid a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat.

When your knees shook he caught you, swept you up into his arms and against him. Your arms clung to his slick shoulders, the sound of the water distant to the roar of need and your shared gasps. His mouth was searing heat that rushed to your bones, flooded your senses with the scent of him––sweat and musk and something that was Michael alone.

Your hands tangled in his wet hair, you slid your fingers through before gripping the back of his head.

He pulled back, and you both took a moment to breathe, your eyes locked on his.

The shower was still running, you thought through the daze and heat of his kiss, and you let your fingers play with the damp strands of his hair.

Another breath, and those beautiful blue eyes opened, dark and focused. You shivered against the heat of him, sigh of need ghosting past your lips.

"I'm not finished with you, yet," Michael said, voice a tangled, resigned whisper.

His breath hitched as he spent some time just looking at you. You did your share too, and decided there were few sights on this Earth as pleasant as he was, soaking wet and completely bare before you.

You smiled at him, pleased, and he groaned, followed by a chuckle as he reached for you again.

His hands, feather-light, shook against your back, fingers running the length of it in silent admiration. You shuddered at his touch and leaned in, pulling him back to meet his open mouth with yours.

The heat was shimmering promises, a slow, strong burn as his hands traced slowly up, brushing against your breasts with interest, but reserving reverence for your skin alone, as his thumbs skimmed under your chin and rested on your cheeks. Your own followed a similar path, sliding up his chest before resting lazily around his shoulders.

He wasn't greedy. Even as you craved, he didn't take, only sought, and you gave freely, whimpering against him. He drew you closer, deepening the gentle, sweet kiss as you went pliant.

The warm water sent rainbows into the steam as you both held your breath. The contact with irresistible. You shifted against the heat beneath you, letting your tongue run over the hollow of his neck and then allowing your teeth to graze the spot next.

Michael shuddered, and you felt him respond, felt the rumble of his low, sworn curse in the fingers splayed on his chest before it formed in sound from his lips.

You heard him take a breath, and he was kissing you again.

This time there was no floating. You careened, crashed, desperate, as the spark lit your blood and swamped you with staggering need––a battlefield in the pouring rain as the water streamed over you both, stealing your breath as surely as you stole one another's. Touch, taste, take, your body against him, hands dragging to his dripping hair, and this time he didn't stop, just tossed you higher against him for a better angle, pressing you against the wall and taking you both out of the direct flow, in as much as he could in the space meant for one. Even now, his hands were gentle – insistent, everywhere, but soft on your skin, and kind.

You wanted more, needed more, and dragged your hands from his hair across slick skin, stretched soft over muscle, shoulders, back, hips, you dragged your nails across the firm, lithe lines and whimpered when he moaned. He let your weight rest against the condensation soaked wall, thrusting your legs tight around his hips. Lowering his hands to your breasts, his fingers hot and urgent, made you tremble, and beg. "Michael––please!"

You lifted his head, hands light on his cheeks this time – a promise, always, that you wouldn't break from his strength, and shifted against him, against the hardness and heat you wanted.

His eyes, clouded, fluttered close, but they opened once more and reflected in them was only you. He murmured your name, voice soft and low, thick with his own need, and one of his hands took its time trailing down you, and a finger skimmed between your thighs and into you, and you buckled as he stroked.

Reckless and smoldering, his lips worshiped your shape, trailing anywhere they could reach, dragging the ache back into your bones and blood, sending it simmering into stark need. You tried to speak, to tell him something, anything, but all you managed was the breathless whisper of his name, sworn into his skin, as he brought you, tense and ready, to the brink and over it in a shuddering wave of scorching heat. It broke through you, thrilling through every inch of wet skin, and you steeped yourself in it, in him, though your legs fell from his waist in dazed satiety.

You might have slid down as your unsteady heels slipped on the tiled floor, but he caught you, kissing you once more, stealing the sweet murmur of his name with strokes of a tongue that was greedy at last. "Michael..."

He pulled away, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against yours, hands shaking. You gasped, sucking in lungfuls of steam and air that simply hadn't seemed worth it when the alternative was that irrepressibly earnest, consuming kiss. His eyes closed briefly, seeking control, and then opened, found yours, and your heart pulsed at the love you saw there, the warmth, and your blood heated at the desire alongside it.

You were in the shower to get cleaned, but Michael seemed to have other ideas, and you simply couldn't refuse him. You were under his spell and you were far too gone now to break out of it. He could have you, when and wherever he wanted, it didn't matter, just as long as he stayed with you and never left your side.

"Michael," you sighed, sensation shooting a bolt of lust straight to your core.

"You're mine," he murmured against your neck, his words were not lost on the rush of the water behind you two. His teeth scraped over your collarbone, making your breath skip.

"You're mine, and I'll never let you go," he insisted, a desperate tinge to his voice. He was pressing fervent kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your jaw, your neck. "No matter what."

You whimpered, wanting to tell him that you were his, always, but then he was kissing you again, hungry and deep, his hands coming back up to fully cup your breast. You both moaned, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, wanting him even closer, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against you. His cock, fully hard now, was prodding insistently into your lower stomach, and you felt another jolt of arousal wash through you. You needed him now, and if the way Michael's hands were roaming over you as he kissed you like he couldn't bear to part from you, he felt the same way.

You pressed your lips to his, until he took them back to instead nip at your ears, pulling wet strands of hair away from your neck to kiss there next. He grinned sheepishly, and gripped your thigh as you lifted it, wrapping a leg around him once more.

He groaned against your mouth as the head of his cock pushed at your folds, and you tilted your hips as best as you could in your position to let him fully grind against you. The tease of his shaft sliding over your clit, the promise of having him buried inside of you, made your head fall back against the tile as you gasped, tightening your leg around him.

"Michael," you begged, feeling like you were burning up from the inside out with want for him. "Michael, please."

He grabbed your ass with both hands, hiking you up against the wall with a grunt and using his weight to pin you there. You let out a small squeak, but immediately wrapped both your legs around his waist, desperate to have him. It took a moment of clumsy maneuvering, your panting breaths mingling in between you two, before Michael finally caught his cock at your entrance and pushed into you with a few short, strong strokes.

He nuzzled your neck, and bit as he thrust in, hard and deep, and the slow heat hit boiling, it was urgent and ravaging and insatiable.

You moaned as he filled you, stretching you in the most perfect way, and Michael let out a shaky breath against your cheek as his hips came flush with yours. Then he adjusted his grip on you, his fingers slipping slightly against your slick skin, and started a sharp, steady rhythm.

Your legs locked around his waist meant he couldn't go far, but Michael made up for the shallow depth of his thrusts with the force of them, hard and fast, and you cried out again as he stroked over something delicious inside of you, shooting sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Fuck," he muttered harshly against your jaw, and you loved the way his fingers were clenching into your flesh, his breath hot on your skin, the sound of the water falling and pounding in your ear. You dug your heels into his back and canted your hips more into him, changing the angle slightly and putting more pressure on your clit, taking the pleasure you were getting from him and setting it on fire.

"Michael, Michael, yes, please, yes," you gasped, holding onto him tightly. "More, please."

He buried his face in your neck and sucked at your pulse point as he snapped his hips into yours even harder. You wanted him to take you apart, to feel him come apart too inside you.

Breathless, you rode with him, hands scrambling for purchase on wet skin. You squirmed against him and the wall, arched best you could and rocked, gasping as he did, and your hands dragged down the front of him, following the trails and droplets of water as they made their way through the grooves and dips of muscle. Your nails dug, body bucked, and still he drove you both on, his control frayed.

He shifted you both, pulling you hard around him and you nearly shrieked as you both went back into the spray and stream of water, but his teeth grazed your lips and sucked on the sound until it escaped in a moan. He thrust deep and you rose high, crying out as pleasure racked you to your core, again, again, and soon you clung to his shoulders, lost in the speed and sensation both slick and shattering.

His face was flushed and fierce, golden tangle of dripping hair wreathed in steam. He bent, tongue sweeping across the peaks of your breasts, and you matched his pace, arching as he drove into you under waves of water. The hand on your thigh tightened, the other tangled in your wet hair, gripping into a fist, and you responded in kind, pulling back, then meeting his open mouth with yours, sinking into the kiss, just as demanding, just as mad.

Pressed against him, you felt the pulse and pound of his heart. All that energy, endurance, the goodness and the gentleness, the wildness and the want of him - it was yours as you were his. Your breath quickened, you moved together, pressed your hungry lips to where you felt his pulse, and felt your name form alongside it even as you murmured his in a ragged breath.

You were close; you could feel it. Michael's arms were straining to keep you up, and you could feel your back slipping against the wet tile. Just a little more... You clutched Michael closer and wound your fingers into his hair, raking hour nails over his scalp as you moaned at the thick slide of him in and out of you, sending you higher and higher.

Michael chanted your name, it sounded like a prayer falling from his lips.

Your orgasm hit you hard, making your vision go fuzzy at the edges and your body seize up around him before dissolving into shivers as pleasure coursed through you, drawn out by his continued rocking into you. Michael followed shortly after, his thrusts turning disjointed before he jolted inside you with a groan, his fingers digging even deeper into your skin, and when he found his release he took you with him in a tumbling, feverish fall.

You panted, trying to hold onto Michael and let you two ease through the afterglow, but his hands slipped and one of your feet fell to the tiled floor of the shower, forcing him to slip out of you. Michael caught you by the arms to steady you as you lowered your other leg, too, and pressed in to lay gentle kisses against your temple as you got your bearings again. You could hardly feel your legs. One thing you definitely learned from being with Michael is that he had a lot of stamina, and you didn't know if you were going to be able to keep up with him, but you were certainly going to try.

He pulled you into his lap in the limited space as you both attempted to catch your breath. You cuddled into him, pleased when his arms wrapped you in a hug as gentle as his passion had been consuming. He brushed your wet hair away once more, kissing your temple, and for a moment, you reveled in the simple satisfaction of languorous, boneless relaxation, and being in the arms of the man you loved.

"I'm yours," he murmured, tucking a wayward strand of wet hair behind your ear.

You turned your face into him before kissing his jaw. "And I'm yours," you said, running your hands from his elbows to his shoulders and back again.

You two stood that way for a long moment, until you acknowledged that you needed to do something about his release leaking out of you and down your legs, and shifted past him to get back beneath the water, which had gone lukewarm. Michael, sensing your purpose without asking, snagged the washcloth hanging on a hook behind you and wet it down before he gave it to you. It didn't take long for you to clean yourself up, and then you cut the water to the shower.

You two toweled off and put on your pajamas in peaceful silence, and it was only once that you were both in bed, you snuggled up against Michael's side with your head pillowed on his shoulder, that you two spoke again.

"I'm so glad you're by my side," Michael said. He was drawing aimless small patterns on your arm with his fingers.

"Me too," you said softly. You shifted a little closer to him. You were a warm and reassuring presence at Michael's side, and Michael couldn't bring himself to move away. In the dim light of the room you could make out the slope of Michael's nose, the way his lips were slightly parted.

"I don't want to ever be without you," Michael murmured. He pressed a kiss to your hair. "I just want to stay with you, forever."

"I want that, too," you found yourself saying before your brain could keep up with you.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," he whispered, his soft gaze locked on yours. "You're all I have."

Why did he have to get so sentimental all of a sudden? Saying things like that was only making you fall harder for him.

You were very much aware that Michael was attached to you. He didn't have anyone else. His grandmother had given up on him. His parents wanted nothing to do with him. In this timeline he didn't have your mother's love and support. You were the only person he could lean on. The only one who cared for him. You knew the danger in that. Though, you realized that you had become greedy. You wanted him all to yourself. You loved the way he looked at you with such fondness in his eyes, the way he hung on to your every word, the way you would turn to your side and see him there, always with you, the way he would cling to you at times like this like you were the only one that mattered.

You didn't think you could ever get enough of that feeling.

"I don't want you to worry about that because it's not going to happen. I'll always be with you," you told him and pecked his nose quickly before resting your head back upon his shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

You had come to realize that Michael needed to be reassured, a lot, due to his abandonment issues. You couldn't blame him for being insecure, but you just wanted to make him feel safe, to give him peace of mind, for him to be happy.

"Okay," Michael hummed softly before his eyes drifted shut.

In the cradle of night, when dawn was coming in only a few more hours, you two curled around each other, and he said your name like prayer.

The next morning rolled by and you were on the highway, with the sun just beginning to rise. There was wind in your hair and sunlight on your face as you drove, the signs and miles flying past.

After some time had passed, you started looking for the nearest gas station because you were running low on gas.

When you finally found it, you parked the vehicle and told Michael to wait in the car.

You entered the gas station but there was a long line so you were waiting longer than you would have liked. When you finally came out, you filled your gas tank up, humming to yourself as you did so.

You returned to your car but the second you looked inside of it, your eyes went wide and your heart beat hard in your chest.

Michael was gone.

You told him to stay in the car.

You were already freaking out before you could even process the situation rationally. Of course, he couldn't listen to directions. You cursed under your breath and took a moment to calm yourself.

He couldn't have gone far, but you didn't know what direction he wandered off to and where to start. You knew the longer you waited, the further he could venture off, or perhaps, get himself in some trouble, which practically always followed Michael.

You decided it was best not to waste time on thinking about where he could be. You had to take action and look for him, now.

You bolted straight ahead and proceeded to a street, calling out Michael's name as you searched for him. You looked through windows at restaurants and any building that was within your path. Still no sight of him.

You started to fear the worst.

What if he had hurt someone? What if he had killed someone?

You wouldn't be there to calm the situation or to stop him.

You weren't gone long but you knew what he was capable of. You knew the destruction he could create even in a short amount of time.

You continued calling his name out but it only granted you stares from fellow pedestrians. You crossed another street, running on the pavement as you looked for any sign of Michael.

You took a moment, trying to catch your breath when you got your sign.

Right across from you, stood a church on the edge of town.

But it wasn't just any church.

You looked up and spotted a large upside down cross at the center of the building, next to it was a pentagram with Baphomet in the middle of it. You swallowed thickly.

Without a second thought, you walked through the doors, fear mercilessly gripping your heart.

The church was dimly lit and Satanic symbols and emblems covered the walls and the surrounding space.

There was a high priest preaching in front of a congregation about how to properly sin if you wanted to get Satan's attention, otherwise he might not 'hear' you.

The church was filled with people but you caught sight of a mop of blonde curls in the pew at the back. You sighed, a deep frown on your face.

You approached Michael, tapping on his shoulder. He seemed to be listening intently, curious and attentive.

"We have to go. We have to get back on the road," you told him in a whisper.

He looked up at you and nodded his head. You reached out to grab his hand and you practically dragged him out of there, though, you noticed that his gaze was lingering back at the church.

When you two exited the church, you decided that you needed answers now.

"What were you doing in there?" you asked, your brows furrowed.

"I'm sorry, I know you told me to stay in the car-"

"Don't apologize, just tell me why," you interrupted him, taking a no-nonsense approach.

"I-It was calling to me. I've never been down this street before but somehow I knew where it was and I felt like I just had to go. It was almost like my body had made the decision for me before my brain could keep up," Michael explained. There was a pained expression on his face and a pitiful pout on his lips.

"Don't go in there again, okay? Never again," you repeated, your tone was somber.

Michael nodded his head quickly before he replied, "I won't."

"I told you to stay in the car," you quavered, frowning.

"I know, I shouldn't have done that," Michael answered, staring down at the ground and avoiding your gaze.

"Let's just go," you said, gripping tighter onto his hand. You started to walk away but then found yourself looking up at the church.

There was a sculpture of the Devil at the top of the building. You felt deeply unsettled just looking at it, your blood ran cold and an intense shiver ran down your spine.

The Devil was smiling. He was looking down at you. He was mocking you.


	22. A Beacon of Hope

You and Michael were back on the road. The sun shone mercilessly on the pavement as you drove and the wind was back in your hair. The car had been filled with silence ever since the moment you two returned to it. There was no music playing. Just radio silence. Before, even when you two didn't have anything to talk about, it was a comfortable silence. This was the complete opposite. There was nothing comfortable about it.

You didn't know what to say. Satan had gotten to him. You knew something like this was bound to happen. It was inevitable. You always hoped that maybe if wouldn't, though, that was just another pipe dream. It wasn't Michael's fault that he did what he did. He wasn't to blame. Michael was just a pawn, a marionette, and Satan was behind the chessboard, moving the pieces, and holding up the strings. He was rigging the game in his favor. He would always have the upper hand. You were naive to think that a witch such as yourself had some type of control to change what seemed like fate.

"Are you mad at me?" Michael finally asked and broke the silence.

"No, I'm not mad," you answered with a pensive look on your face. You knew he was in a fragile state so you had to carefully choose your words.

"Don't lie to spare my feelings. Be honest with me," Michael demanded, his tone switching to something much more somber.

"I'm not mad," you repeated. "It's okay, just don't do it again, and try to listen the next time I ask something of you," you told him, your voice was steady.

"I'm trying. Sometimes I just feel like I'm not always in control, like there's something in me that-that I don't understand, that makes me do things I shouldn't, and it scares me," Michael confessed, worrying his lower lip. Michael was a fragile thing stitched together with broken wings and an aching heart.

You couldn't help but frown at his words. You pitied him. You wanted nothing more than to help him, to guide him, but was it possible if Satan always had his clutches on poor Michael's soul? It seemed as though you were constantly being tested.

Things were easier when you hated him.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I know you're trying," you said, turning your attention to him for a moment to offer him a sympathetic look.

Michael didn't say anything for what felt like an eternity. His lips were pressed tightly together and it seemed as though he was contemplating something. His skin burned a touch as the sun fell across his face, his nose and the top of his cheekbones flushed pink.

"If I did something really bad, would you still stick around?" he asked suddenly, the question catching you off guard.

"Michael..."

"Tell me the truth," he cut you off.

"It's not going to happen," you said, directing your attention back to the road.

"I've done bad things, things I shouldn't have done. It's why my grandma kicked me out," Michael admitted. "I killed-"

"I know, but you're not going to do it again. That's why we're going here, so you can control your powers, so you don't lash out like that again," you explained.

"I don't think I'm worth all this trouble. I don't get it, why you're so kind to me. It would be easier if you just walked away, if you just left, but you're staying by my side," Michael whispered, looking back at you with an earnest gaze.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, to make up for their wrongs," you told him.

"Is that all it is?" Michael asked, daring to get more out of you.

You glanced back at him and swallowed thickly.

"No, it's not. I care about you, Michael, a lot, more than you know," you replied, a slight tremble to your words. "I'm not going to give up on you."

He sucked in a breath at that, his eyes inspecting your face for any trace of deceit, finding none.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," Michael murmured softly.

"You know, we're all a little stronger than we think we are," you told him with a small smile.

"But when I'm with you, I'm home. I've never felt stronger than when you're with me," Michael said earnestly, his eyes still focused on yours.

You smiled at him, feeling your heart hammer against your rib cage.

"I'm lost without you. I couldn't do this on my own," Michael continued, his voice soft. "You're the one thing keeping me sane right now."

The thought of you leaving him had made him feel heavy and jittery, and he wouldn't be able to bear it. He needed you as much as he needed air at this point.

You took a deep breath.

"All I need from you is to try. There's so much good in you, Michael, so much. I see it, and I want you to hold on it, okay? No matter what," you said, your lips curling up into a warm smile.

"I will. Anything for you," Michael promised, leaning in to place a kiss upon your cheek before he relaxed in his seat.

The roads grew long and the skies grew short. Before you knew it, night had fallen.

The only sounds around you were the soft hum of car tires on the fresh pavement, though traffic was slowing the night didn't seem to stop. The cities around the interstate buzzed with activity. The sea of car lights went on for as long as the eye could see, the occasional street lights helping to illuminate the dim road.

You kept a steady eye on the road while Michael had fallen asleep not long after it began to get dark. You found that you weren't tired at all, there was so much on your mind that it was enough to keep you awake, that and the power of coffee. You knew trying to save Michael would come with its challenges and obstacles, and all you wanted was to save him from the dark urges that invaded his head, but of course, Satan had other plans. Was this possible? Were you out of your mind to think that Michael could be saved? That there was hope for his tortured soul?

These questions lingered in your head but nevertheless you had to persevere. It was too late to be having doubts. You had to go through with this. You pushed Mallory for this, so now there was no going back.

You would occasionally stop to get food and take some much needed cat naps every now and then until the rest of the way there.

Finally, you two had arrived at Miss Robichaux's Academy. This was the place that could help Michael. This was the solution to all your problems involving Michael.

Michael looked up at the tall white building and he swallowed hard, a frown of uncertainty marring his features. He was anxious.

"W-What if they don't want me? What if-"

"Michael, stop, it's not going to be like that," you interrupted his strings of broken stutters. "We're doing this together. You have me, so you don't have to worry. I'll be with you."

"Sorry, I'm just nervous," Michael admitted in a timorous voice, his gaze returning to yours.

"I know," you said, curling a strand of his hair behind his ear gently. "But it's going to be okay. I promise."

"I hope so," Michael murmured.

"Come on," you insisted, extending your hand out for him to take. Michael grasped your hand and nodded his head, allowing you to lead him inside the building.

When you entered, every witch's head turns towards you two. Their eyes widened at the mere sight of a boy in the room and moments later (after a very awkward stretch of silence) they started whispering amongst one another, collectively.

"There's only women here?" Michael asked as he looked around the room, raising his brows. You nodded your head towards him. He was sticking out like a sore thumb.

Tentatively, you approached one of the girls at the table and asked for Cordelia.

The young woman was about to answer but then Cordelia came out from one of the rooms. Zoe was beside her.

"Hello, what brings you two here?" Cordelia asked. She glanced at Michael with raised brows, probably wondering why the hell you would bring a boy here of all places. It was called Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies. On the website they made it very clear that only girls could enroll but here you were, with Michael.

You introduced yourself to Cordelia, shaking her hand and then introduced Michael to her, giving him a nudge with your shoulder when he didn't extend his hand out for her to shake. Apparently manners was another thing he needed to learn.

"Miss Cordelia, we need your help. Michael has just discovered his abilities as a warlock, he's struggling trying to control them, and he needs guidance. Guidance from someone as powerful as the Supreme," you explained, and you would be lying if you said you weren't intimidated. You were in the presence of Cordelia, meeting her for the first time, again, it was nerve-racking, especially being here with Michael, who she could easily turn away because he was a boy.

"I think you meant to take him to the Hawthrone School for Exceptional Young Men. Boys aren't allowed to attend this school," Zoe said bluntly.

"No, it has to be here," you replied to Zoe before directing your attention back to Cordelia. "We came all the way from California to meet you, Cordelia. You're the strongest, most powerful witch alive. You know everything there is to know about magic ability. I know Michael could learn so much from you, things he couldn't at Hawthrone. We'd be so grateful if you could help him."

Cordelia seemed to be rolling the idea around in her head, a look of reluctance etched on her face.

"You're a witch, yourself aren't you?" Cordelia asked suddenly.

"Yes," you answered with a nod of your head.

"Why do I feel like we've met before? Like this isn't the first time?" Cordelia questioned, feeling a sense of familiarity about you.

"What makes you think that?" you asked.

"Just a hunch," Cordelia answered, seemingly inspecting your every movement, taking apart your every action. "There's just something about you that's really familiar."

"I don't know. Maybe I just have one of those faces," you lied.

"Maybe," Cordelia replied, but she was giving you a look that implied she was still thinking it over. "So how did you find out about us?"

"We saw you on TV and went on the website and we just knew that this was the perfect place," you told her.

"So are you guys like a two for one?" Zoe asked, raising her brows inquisitively.

"Yes, that is if you'd have us," you said, looking at both of them with pleading eyes, like a puppy.

Cordelia eyed Michael with a scrutinizing gaze, it was contemplative yet daunting. It was hard to read what was going through her head but you just hoped that she wasn't going to turn Michael away. Michael felt agitated, but he tried not to let it show that it bothered him.

"Yes, we'd love to have both of you here. I'd be happy to help Michael," Cordelia turned back to you with a smile.

"Oh my god, thank you so much Cordelia, thank you," you repeated, shaking her hand once again. You were practically jumping for joy.

"You're very welcome."

"Can I speak to you for a moment?" Zoe asked, pulling Cordelia aside when she nodded her way. "Why would she bring a boy here of all places?"

"She said he needs guidance. She looked like she didn't have anyone else to turn to. She came all this way. I'd just feel wrong turning them away," Cordelia whispered to Zoe.

"She doesn't want us here, does she?" Michael asked with a frown.

You rubbed his back with a hand lovingly to calm him and hushed him in a soothing voice.

"I don't know if I feel comfortable with this. It could ruin the natural order of things. You know how men are. Maybe you should reconsider," Zoe argued.

"Zoe, I have made up my mind. I know what I'm doing. Trust me on this," Cordelia assured.

Cordelia turned to you and Michael, approaching you with a wide smile. "Welcome to Miss Robichaux's Academy. Let's get you two settled in."

Your heart bloomed with joy. This was the answer. This was the solution. You had hope, again. Michael was going to learn from the Supreme herself, Cordelia Goode.

During Michael's stay at the Miss Robichaux's Academy, he demonstrated incredible magical ability and passed each test with flying colors and then some, surpassing all the other witches. He was testing the natural order of magic itself and proved that a warlock could challenge a witch's power. Michael was a natural. In the few weeks Cordelia had been teaching Michael, he had already jumped from basics to intermediate to advanced spell casting. What would take the usual witch or warlock years to master, Michael had in just a few short hours of the night for a handful of weeks.

Cordelia was impressed, but at the same time, daunted.

You bore witness to his confidence growing, he had become so sure of himself in such a short amount of time. He was thriving at the academy, like an angel sprouting his wings.

Most didn't mind due to the fact that Michael looked like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, so it was no surprise that many girls tried to get Michael's attention and flirted excessively in a bid to earn his affection. Though, Michael was very much amused with the attention, he only had eyes for you. Word quickly got around that you two were a 'thing' and that only made the girls envy you. The witches giving you the cold shoulder and gossiping about you was the least of your worries. Your main concern was making sure that Michael conducted himself properly and that things went smoothly.

But then others were not too pleased with Michael's appearance at the academy, constantly giving him the side-eye and grimacing at the mere presence of a boy in the room. Some of them would actively complain to Cordelia about Michael's enrollment and you just hoped that she wouldn't listen to them.

Cordelia always kept a very watchful eye on Michael, she was the one who was personally guiding him through each task. She saw first-hand how his powers were blossoming, flourishing. Cordelia seemed to be very impressed with Michael, for the most part, but sometimes as you watched her examining him you caught sight of an uneasy expression taking over her features, like she was almost dreading having to mentor him. Michael sought recognition from Cordelia and he anticipated every pat on the back. He was quick to look up to her. He admired her expertise and prowess and was like a puppy who yearned for praise.

Mallory was there at the academy and once she had heard of your arrival, she was quick to approach you and speak with you privately.

"Do you really think you can save him?" she asked, skeptical.

You nodded you head. "Yes."

"Do you think you can or are you just hoping you'll be able to save him?" Mallory questioned with a scrutinizing look.

"I know I can," you answered.

"Okay, if the universe crashes and burns again, it'll be on you this time," Mallory reminded you bluntly.

That was a hard pill to swallow.

"Blind hope is a dangerous thing, but blind love, is far more dangerous," Mallory said ominously. "I hope you know what you're doing."

You and Michael shared the same room and always slept together. There were many times where Michael tried to initiate intimacy but you didn't dare oblige him, fearing that if you did Cordelia or one of the witches would simply sense it and find out about what you were up to and immediately send you both packing. That was the last thing you wanted.

Though, occasionally you two would sneak off into the woods, away from the academy, so you could sate the other's urges, because you two just couldn't help yourselves.

You bit your lip, trying to muffle yourself as Michael adjusted you higher on the tree. The bark was rough and it scratched at your skin, even through your top and the coat Michael had draped on your shoulders. He was so tall that, every time you slid down, he had to hitch you higher, bringing your legs farther up on his torso, and you tightened your hold on him, your fingers threading through his hair, holding on for some sort of leverage.

You two were _really_ not supposed to be doing this.

You didn't think that you'd ever be the kind of person to get yourself in such a situation. You never understood the appeal of being intimate outside: it was messy and uncomfortable and you always had want for a mattress. But there was such a thrill being with Michael and so he might have swayed you.

You were arching away from the tree so hard, you were sure you were going to pull a muscle.

"Michael," you hissed out, grinding against him, unable to hold back a low groan when he sucked at the skin of your throat, both of his hands massaging your thighs. Neither of you were willing to take everything off, not when you two could be caught at any moment, and he had simply scrunched your long skirt up to a ring around your waist, leaving you exposed.

You felt his smirk against you as he cupped your ass with one hand, using the other to lightly stroke through your panties, and you gasped, moaning softly as he licked up the side of your neck, nuzzling the space behind your ear. After a moment, his scratchy voice, low and ragged, whispered, "Careful, angel," and you bit your lip harder, letting your head fall back as you swiveled your hips in time to his stroking.

He rubbed you through the cloth off your underwear and you grasped at his shoulders, your nails biting through the fabric of his shirt as you let loose a muffled squeak. His chuckle was amused as he inhaled in the smell of your shampoo, delighting in seeing you unfurl.

"Shhh. Someone could hear you," he told you, sounding all too smug. You closed your eyes, face burning at the very thought, and he finally took the time to shove the cloth off your hipsters to the side so he could slide a finger into you. You bucked, your spine flexing, your entire body on fire.

He was right. If you weren't quiet, you two would be caught and you would never live it down.

The training forest, of all places. You were with Michael in the training forest and God help you, there wasn't any witches out at this time of night.

"Michael," you muttered out, breathing hard as he crooked his finger, biting beneath your jaw. The breathy moan you made was drawn out as he slowly slid in and out of you, sucking hard at your skin. It was a sure sign that he was just as ready as you were, since he was throwing caution in the wind, marking you in such a visible place. But all it did was make your heart pound harder. You liked the thought of it, being claimed by him, and you certainly liked looking at it in the mirror after the fact.

You tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your throat and to your mouth as he could swallow your pleased cries. Your hips were twisting around, your thighs twitching.

You didn't even know what you would do if someone found you two, which they very well could. One of the instructors, a student. Oh god, they would be wondering what training exercise the two of you were doing that had you two panting. The air around you two was thick, and he knew what to do to your body to make you buck, your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

This time you bit at his lip, surely leaving it swollen, dragging your nails down his clothes back as though looking for some kind of leverage. But there was none. You were spiraling out of your skin, frantically rutting onto his hand, and when he slid a second finger into you, curling them, you pulled away from the kiss, grinding down.

You reared forward, burying your flushed face against his shoulder as he slowly slid in and out of you, and you wriggled, trying to entice a faster speed out of him. The muffled curses and harsh pants that he was coaxing out of you were definitely bringing out the sadist in him, and he slowed more and more, probably wanting you to beg.

Dammit, you two didn't have the time for him to tease you like that. You whimpered, bouncing against him to set your own pace, and he laughed in your ear, though it was low and strained, before he slid out of you and you whined.

"M-Michael, what the hell?" you asked, certainly not in the mood for the orgasm denial business he so loved to pull.

"I thought I sensed someon-"

"I don't _care_ ," you said, digging your nails into his shoulders and pressing your hips against his so you could grind against his clothed erection. "Finish what you started, dammit."

You couldn't see his grin, but you could practically feel it when he adjusted his hold on you, bringing you higher on his body and undoing his pants with one hand.

He was such a bastard, sometimes, and he got so smug when he knew how turned on you were, but you were beyond caring. Were you preoccupied with anything else, you would certainly call him out on it, but you were too busy wondering what was taking him so long to pull down a damn zipper.

"Michael," you hissed, bringing your hands to the hem of his shirt and sliding your fingers under the fabric so you could properly scratch at his back. "Hurry up."

He moaned when you left crescent marks in his skin. You bounced against him, arching forward so you could kiss his jaw, licking your way to the underside so you could lay a bite, there, using the matching mark on your own skin as inspiration. His hold on you almost faltered as you bit down roughly, dragging your nails higher on his back, and he had to grab your ass with both hands just to support you.

This time, you were the one who smirked, sucking gently before you licked up to his ear.

"Careful," you started, grinding down on him and maneuvering around so he would have an easier time entering you, smiling wider when he bit back a groan. "Someone could hear you," you finished, throwing his own words back at him before you took his earlobe between your teeth, and you felt his deep hum in his throat as she pressed your cheek against him. The instant you trailed your lips back down his neck.

Michael finally undid his pants and then in one smooth motion, he pressed you against the tree and bit back a chortle at the squeak he managed to inspire out of you. It was high and surprised, the farthest thing from seductive and the closest thing to cute, and it immediately ruined the darker, grittier tone you had previously attempted.

He was grinning smugly and you huffed, breathing hot air on his neck.

"Adorable," he told you, chuckling lowly. "Playing temptress doesn't particularly suit you," he informed, which was ironic given what he used to call you before. You shifted in his hold, adjusting your hips forward as you settled your weight more heavily on your shoulders, pulling away from where you were leaving hickeys over his neck to look him in the eye, one of your brows lifting up.

"Yeah?" you asked, shoving your hips against his and watching him hiss in a harsh breath between his teeth. You smiled, tightening your hold on his shoulder. "Well you've got a mouth," you snarled back, fluttering your eyes shut when Michael leaned forward, kissing you once more and biting at your lip.

You arched against him, cupping the back of his neck and playing with his hair as he sucked on your cupid's bow, the hand he had used to undo his pants coming back to between your thighs, all but ripping your panties as he moved them out of the way, exposing your center. You shivered when he stroked over you once more, muttering out something that sounded suspiciously like, "You talk too much."

You bit his lip in retaliation, wriggling as he brought himself to your opening. You made a muffled sound of encouragement as he rocked back and forth, adjusting his hold on you so he had both hands on your ass, digging his fingers into the flesh slightly as he sunk into you with a practiced ease.

The breathy noise you made when he was finally in all the way was drowned out by your heartbeat in your ears, and you threw your arms out around his neck so you could hold onto him more easily, as though he were the only buoy. You let your eyes flutter shut, just taking in the moment of how he had replaced the emptiness in you with himself, stretching you almost to the limit. Even with how many times you two had been together, and how wet you were, and how he'd prepare you, when he'd enter you, it never ceased to make you squirm about and adjust once more to his familiar size.

But after you did, God, the stretch was amazing, and he always knew just when to move, starting up a slow, careful pace, kissing your temple as you breathed hard, whispering stupid, needless things: encouragements and praises. You felt one of his hands come to your hair as he rocked in you, cupping the back of your head and moving your face away from his neck so he could kiss you, settling himself closer to you and pressing you between himself and the tree. A rock and a hard place, you thought wryly, as each movement he made moved you roughly against the bark, sure to leave scratches on your back when you two were done, even through your shirt. But, if anything, the small pinpricks of pain brought just the smallest amount of clarity, the haze of pleasure broken just the tiniest bit, and it kept you teetering.

That was something no one had ever realized about you, before. That you needed that minuscule scrap of pain to intensify the pleasure so much more, and you whispered against Michael's mouth, lips moving to kiss over his cheek and jaw, a quiet "Harder."

You groaned, high and soft, as he started up the brutal pace you were waiting for, bringing himself out almost all the way before swiftly thrusting in, and you let your head hang back as his hands came to your hips to smooth the motions.

"Doing alright?" he asked you, as he kissed your chin, down the line of your throat. Your hair was a total mess, your shoulders flushed from the scratches, and you trembled in his grasp, listening to how his words were broken up in his own hazy pleasure, his nails digging into your skin the same way your own were digging into his.

The "mmhmm!" you let out was enthusiastic, the wriggle of your hips. Because anyone could find you two, and the crash of embarrassment made you feel helplessly aroused, so wet that you irrationally wondered if all the liquid in your body was going to drip out of you. Anyone could find you two, find him inside of you, fucking you silly. And you wouldn't even _care_ , that was the worst of it all. That you were beyond propriety, made of nothing but nerve endings that were humming, your stomach ignited, every piece of you too warm and the ache between your hips downright throbbing in a need that escaped words.

And when he told you to hold on, held you up with only one hand as the other spread you open to rub at your clit, you almost let go of him, jolting. You were already so overly sensitive, whimpering as he pistoned in and out, fucking you raw in the training forest. The way he was stroking over your already swollen bundle was going to make you snap.

When you moaned, probably all too loud, you didn't even know what you said. It could have been his name or, hell, your name, or even your favorite color, but you just knew that if he stopped, you'd die. You'd just die out in that fucking forest and you thought you told him so, babbling as he somehow intensified everything: going harder, and faster, working over your clit with maddening motions.

You could have been anywhere, really. You barely had a grasp of what was happening. Your world narrowed in to between your legs, to his shoulders, to the impending, devastating release that you could feel was going to wreck you as it always wrecked you. And when you broke apart in his arms, turned into a squirming, arching, babbling mess, you made out his quiet moans, but you were too busy trying to gasp in air, to keep yourself sane. It was easy to lose yourself in the wave of all that pleasure, in the hard hit of release. But you focused in once more, moaning helplessly as he chased his own release, and you could feel him throbbing, his pulse in time with your own as you clenched around him, your body never wanting for him to leave.

You were boneless and pliant in his hold, doing little more than gasping when he came inside of you, his entire body shuddering, knees likely buckling because you felt him lean his weight against you. It was a good thing he had more than ample experience in holding you: that he was still so physically strong, else you'd probably be lying in the pile of leaves beneath his feet, disconnected from him so harshly.

Instead, it was a slow sink to the ground as he gasped, and settled into his knees, keeping you in his lap as you stroked at his hair and his shoulders, smoothly kissing over his face.

"You doing okay?" you asked, words barely wisps as you took care of him after his release, still filled by him, and he nodded quickly, resting his forehead against your sweaty shoulder. You cooed, humming contently as he brought his hands from your hips and ass to your back, massaging and tenderly tracing over the superficial scratches.

A moment later, barely even, you could feel the smugness of a smirk across his face.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing," he chuckled, still not even remotely close to composed. And you raised a brow, though he certainly couldn't see it. "Only that, do you recall when you were concerned others could hear you?"

You practically lit up, not knowing how loud you had been, but certainly embarrassed to find out. "Michael-"

"Well," he said, and you didn't even need to see him to hear the proud grin on his face. "I think all of Miss Robichaux's Academy is well aware of just exactly what we were doing."

You could have slapped him.

One night, you two were lying in bed and the room was dark as it always was, and your legs were bent at the knee, your own pressed to his. You two were tangled in the way you always were: unable to tell where one starts and the other begins, and you were staring deeply into the other's eyes, hands curled around each other, in a perfect, comfortable silence.

"Hey," you spoke suddenly. "Do you remember when we first met?" you asked, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. "What was your first impression of me?"

"I thought you were beautiful, absolutely radiant," he replied, the answer coming naturally. That was what you wanted to be for him. A beacan of light, of hope. His thumb was soothing over your knuckles, his chest rising and falling, steadily; content just to listen to you as you spoke. "What did you think of me?"

"I just thought I wanted to hold you. I wanted to hold you and take your pain away, forever," you whispered softly. He was lost until you found him.

Michael smiled in response. He bumped his knee against your own, your thighs pressed together at the side, a smooth, clean seam, even though you were smaller than he was. He wanted to kiss you again, he realized, so he rolled closer to you, lifting himself up on an elbow, and as though you understood him, because you did, you'd done the same. You were mirrors of each other, fractal images staring back, and your lips had curled up, something he could feel when he kissed you. And it was smooth and slow and easy, as easy as loving you, as easy as falling for you, as easy as falling.

He ran his hand up from the base of your spine up to the back of your neck to hold you in place as he kissed you silly, and you shuddered pleasantly against him when he did so. When you two finally pulled away, you couldn't speak for a moment, a point of pride as he scooted down, resting his head on your chest as you stroked his hair.

When you finally did open your mouth, you couldn't help what came out of it, "I love you, you know?"

You loved him. Really, properly... You loved him. It was making your head spin.

"I know. I love you too," he replied back, and you smiled. "You know?" he asked you, parroting.

"I know," you echoed, tugging on his hair playfully, kissing the top of his head, much to his delight.

Michael had grown soft in the light of your adoration. Had grown so acutely aware of the pain if losing you. Had made himself vulnerable in ways he never thought he would.

And yet, laying with you, he couldn't help but feel that loving you was the greatest thing he could have ever done.

You had confidence that Cordelia could steer Michael in the right direction, to the light, and that was what she was trying to do. But as Cordelia continued to mentor him, she suspected there was darkness lurking inside of him that he wasn't quite able to harness. It seemed as though Michael was exhibiting ability that was to the level of a Supreme (not like that was a surprise to you), which certainly caught Cordelia's attention.

It was enough for Cordelia and the council of witches to make Michael undergo a series of tests to evaluate just how strong he truly was. You weren't part of the council so you were completely on edge, waiting to hear the results. He had only been at the academy for about a month, and he was already making the Supreme herself become apprehensive.

There were freaky things that happened around Michael. Like garden snakes hanging around the back door, or having the entire hall suddenly clean when it was his turn to scrub it, or summoning things so that he'd have them right behind him without even knowing how they got there.

Cordelia wasn't a disagreeable person really, but something about Michael threw her for a loop. She got a vibe like he belonged in a completely different world- and she got the oddest sensation of goosebumps when around him.

You were starting to worry if this was the right choice or not, if you should have brought him here. Michael couldn't become the Supreme, or rather, he couldn't think he could become the Supreme. You were in a constant state of wondering what to do and what not to do, what were the right choices and were the wrong choices.

There was no instruction manual on how to save the Antichrist, so you didn't know what to do other than show him that you cared, to be patient with him, to be there for him through thick and thin, but what if that wasn't enough? If Cordelia couldn't help him, could you trust that you would be able to successfully do it all on your own?

When the series of tests were over, Cordelia asked to speak with you privately, an unreadable expression on her face. You felt your heart drop to your stomach. She beckoned you to follow her to a room and once you were inside, she closed the door. You sat across from her, trying to calm your rapid heartbeat.

"There is something I need to ask you, and I need you to be honest with me," Cordelia started somberly, clasping her hands together upon the desk in front of you two.

"Okay."

"How did you and Michael meet?" Cordelia asked, her brows raised as she looked at you fixedly.

"We met in college," you lied.

"Where did he come from? Where was he raised?" Cordelia continued, staring you down like a hawk.

"In a small town in California," you lied, again.

"So how did you find out about the powers and abilities he possessed?" Cordelia questioned.

"There was an incident at a friend's house, he kind of lit something on fire," you decided to tell her the truth on that part, she already knew that he needed guidance with his magic.

Cordelia nodded her head and averted her gaze at the desk before looking back up and asking, "Has he... Has he hurt somebody before? With his magic?"

You recalled what Michael had done to Tyler which forced you to heal him and his mutilation of small animals, yet you acted as though such things never occurred. "No, no he hasn't."

"Are you sure? He hasn't even tried to? He hasn't talked about it?" Cordelia persisted.

You shook your head and said, "No."

"You have seen no red flags whatsoever that would make you think he was capable of hurting others?" Cordelia pressed on.

"Miss Cordelia, please just tell me what happened," you begged, needing to cut to the chase.

Cordelia took a breath before she began, "As you know, the council and I evaluated Michael's magical ability. I'm afraid his powers have risen to the level of a Supreme. There has never been a level four warlock, it's simply unprecedented."

You listened, staying silent and she continued.

"During the evaluation, I saw a lot from Michael that made me wary, to say the least. There's no denying how strong he has become. He has surpassed most of the Seven Wonders with ease. But I see this darkness in him. I feel it. It's practically exuding from his very aura," Cordelia explained, the corners of her mouth turning into a pensive frown. "His power... it's incredibly dangerous. It's unlike anything I've seen before. It's not natural, the dark energy flowing through his veins. At first, I thought maybe there was a way for it to be controlled, tamed, but I was quick to realize that wasn't going to happen.

You didn't know what to say so you just kept your mouth shut. Though, you knew where this was going. He was stronger than Cordelia, she knew that. He surpassed his own mentor.

"Michael can't stay here. I don't trust him around my girls," Cordelia told you with a frown.

"W-Why? He hasn't hurt anyone, has he?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I'm afraid that he will, and I cannot let that happen, I'd never forgive myself if it did," Cordelia maintained.

"Miss Cordelia, things were going so well, please. I don't have anywhere else to turn to," you pleaded, as a last ditch effort, but her mind was already made up.

"You're free to stay, but he can't. To be frank, I shouldn't have allowed him to enroll here in the first place. It was a bad judgment call, I realize that now," Cordelia stated in a firm tone.

Your head hung low and a frown overtook your features.

"I'm sorry to have disappointed you, but the safety and security of my girls comes first, above all else," Cordelia reminded you.

"I understand, Miss Cordelia," you murmured.

"You know, if someone is drowning, you don't have to let yourself drown to save them. You don't have to go down with a sinking ship. Sometimes people can't be saved, sometimes there's nothing we can do about it, and it's not our fault," Cordelia advised.

"He doesn't have anyone else. He only has me," you quavered, your voice nearly failing you. "I can't give up on him. Then what? He'll have no one and nothing good will come from that."

"I'm just advising that you should put yourself first," Cordelia suggested. "I think us women always believe we have to be the one to fix things or fix others, it doesn't have to be that way."

"Well I can't just turn away. I won't," you managed brokenly, standing up from the chair.

"You have a home here, if you ever wish to come back," Cordelia offered with a sympathetic gaze. "Remember that."

"Thank you," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper before you exited the room.

When you left, you found that Michael was waiting patiently outside of the room on a chair.

You were fighting back tears. Your efforts were in vain. You didn't have a plan B.

"We have to go," you told him and started walking forward, expecting him to follow you.

"What? Why? Why do we have to go?" he asked as he began walking with you, though you were already ahead of him.

"We just can't stay here anymore," you said, avoiding his gaze, as though you couldn't bear to see the hurt you knew you would see in his eyes.

"And why is that? I thought everything was going fine," Michael asked, grabbing your shoulder from behind and turning you around so that you were facing him.

"Because it's just not going to work out, okay? So please stop asking me why," you managed, your voice breaking between words.

"Why can't you tell me? Why are you always so vague? You're keeping things from me, hiding things. Do you think I can't handle it?" Michael asked, his steady gaze holding your own. He was right. You were hiding things from him. There was so much you couldn't tell him, like how he was powerful enough to become the Supreme, about the growing darkness inside of him.

"It's for your own good," you answered quickly. "Now can we please just get out of here?"

"Does Cordelia not want me here? What did she say to you?" Michael demanded.

"It's complicated," you answered.

"That's what you always say when you don't want to answer something," he shot back.

"Coming here was a mistake, alright? I made a mistake," you told him, a lump forming in your throat. "I thought this place could help you, but I was wrong."

"No you weren't. This place was helping me. Cordelia was teaching me, guiding me. I don't understand what went wrong," Michael said, a hopeless look overcoming his features. "I thought everything was going to work out. You said this was the answer."

"It's not. They don't want us here. I'm sorry," you whispered brokenly. You reached your hand down and your fingers sought his. Reluctantly and with a heavy heart, he allowed you to lead him out of the academy.

You two returned to the car, a weighty silence fell between you two.

Michael broke it when he asked, "What's going to happen now?"

"I don't know. I barely have any money, but we'll figure it out," you told him, not needing him to worry. You were frustrated, you didn't have anywhere to go. You couldn't go back to your friend's house or your own house, and now you couldn't stay at the Miss Robichaux's Academy, either. You were running out of options. Looks like it was back to staying at cheap motels and hotels, but then what?

You started the engine and began driving quickly, probably a lot faster than you should have. You just wanted to get out of there.

You sped forward and then all of a sudden, you hit something, or someone, you didn't know. You gasped sharply in surprise when you saw what looked like a body hit the hood of your car and then rolled on the ground.

You turned to Michael, your eyes widened in shock and mouth agape.

What did you just do?


	23. A New Beginning

You stared at Michael, frozen in shock, and still unable to process what just happened. You were scared to find out what it was you hit.

"Come on, get out of the car," Michael urged. He unbuckled his seat belt and you followed suit, exiting the vehicle.

When you walked close enough to see exactly what you hit, or more like who you hit, you gasped in horror, your hand reaching to cover your mouth to stifle the scream that ripped through.

Your ears were ringing, and your hands felt clammy. You couldn't breathe.

No. Oh god, no.

Ice flooded your veins and your heart clenched at the sight. No, it couldn't be. You didn't just...

It was Mallory.

Mallory was on the cold ground, her body curled up as blood spewed from her mouth, trickling down her chin, a broken shell of a witch. The warmth of her blood welled up and pooled onto the ground around her body.

Red. There was so much of it.

You ran Mallory over.

"No, no, no, no, no, no," you repeated to yourself, absolutely hysterical. You ran over to her, stumbling forward on your way. You knelt down on the ground, tears streaming down your face. You looked her over and noticed that a bag had flown not too far across from her. It only took you a moment to realize that it was your bag. You couldn't believe it. Why weren't you paying attention? You let your emotions get the better of you.

Mallory must have ran outside to give you back your bag. That's right, you didn't pack your stuff, you just upped and left, ready to leave it all behind like you had done so many times before. She was being a good friend and wanted to give you your things back. That was the kind of person Mallory was, always good, always wanting to help others.

You didn't feel a pulse. She wasn't breathing. Her chest ceased to rise and not even the gentlest breeze stirred her palms with warmth and life. Lifeless eyes stared back at you, lips parted and stained in crimson. She was a goner.

Michael was next to you, unsure of what to do, what to say.

You were trembling violently and tears were clouding your vision but still the sight before you was clear as day. You had killed Mallory. No, you had to take it back. You had to try. You had to try and heal her, save her.

"Mallory, no, no, you're going to be okay. You're going to be okay, I can fix this," you choked out brokenly, reaching your shaky hands out over her, trying to harness the energy inside of you, focusing on the magic thrumming through your veins.

"You have to stay with me, I need you to stay with me," you begged, your words broken up in sobs as you lamented for your sister's life. The acrid stench of her blood burned your nostrils and made you dizzy. You felt the bitter burn of bile rising in your throat, forcing you to swallow it back down.

You kept at it for a while but when that proved successful, you clutched onto her hand, somehow believing that the close contact could do wonders for the spell you were trying to bring to life. You closed your eyes and gripped tighter onto Mallory's hand, releasing a deep breath in an attempt to soothe your rapid heartbeat. Your teeth was gritted and when you started to feel like your efforts were in vain once more, you tried again, harder this time. Fear and sorrow gripped your heart but you pushed on.

Still nothing. Nothing was working.

"No, no, no, please work, please. Mallory don't give up on me, please, you hear me? Don't give up on me. I'm so sorry," you cried, still trying to bring her back again and again, a strong sense of denial willing you to continue, to persist, but it proved fruitless. "Mallory, please, you have to get up," you stuttered out, choking off at the end.

Michael reached out to offer a reassuring caress upon your shoulder, stroking your quivering skin.

You weren't strong enough. You couldn't bring her back. It wasn't within your power. Your lungs felt frozen, and you couldn't force yourself to calm down.

You turned to Michael, sheer hopelessness in your woeful eyes, and your breath was caught in your throat. Your cheeks were stained with wet tears and you didn't know what to do.

Though, perhaps, the one that could save her was right next to you. Perhaps, this was how he could redeem himself, in the eyes of the Supreme.

"Michael, please save her, please try," you begged Michael, tugging on his shoulder repeatedly as if your words weren't enough for him to see how desperate you were at this point. "We can't give up on her!" you cried, your voice peaked high with panic.

"Okay, okay," he replied, kneeling down closer to where Mallory's body was lying. He allowed her eyes to fall shut with his fingertips. He released a deep breath and started to concentrate on the magic thrumming inside him. He tried to remember everything Cordelia had taught him about healing and how to focus on that energy. His eyes drifted shut, hands hovering above Mallory, and you watched, panic-stricken, holding your breath as your chest heaved.

You couldn't lose her over your incompetence. Mallory deserved better than that. She was the reason you were able to go back and help Michael in the first place. She was your friend. She was your sister, part of your coven.

You waited, giving Michael as much time as he needed centering his focus wholly on the task, the magic within him lighting his veins and flowing through his body, it was just a matter of being able to bring it forth, to bring it to life.

After what felt like an eternity, Michael pulled his hands back to himself. You looked back at Mallory, eyes full of hope, waiting for the moment that she would wake up and her eyes blink back open.

You waited for what must have been several long moments. Still nothing.

"Michael... Did you... Could you... Were you able to-" you were unable to find the words, it was as though saying them out loud would make it true, that she was really gone, and you couldn't bear that. A sound escaped your chest, and then you released a deep exhale.

You could feel your heart sink in your chest and tried to gulp down the lump that formed in your throat. Cold dread settled in your stomach. You opened your mouth to speak, lips parting to form words that never came. Instead they were replaced with a myriad of hard, painful coughs, followed by a trembling groan that wormed right down to your core with an ache that throbbed throughout your body. That hopeless feeling had returned, swallowing you whole, it was all so consuming, and you were sure that you lost her.

Silence settled over you two like an uneasy blanket, suffocating in the stifling air, making the queasy feeling inside you worsen within the fresh air outside.

But then a miracle happened.

Mallory awoke with a jolt, eyes wide open, gasping sharply as she took in lungfuls of air, before a series of coughs racked her body.

It worked. Michael saved her. She was dead and then Michael brought her back to life. It was truly a miracle. Michael saved someone.

"W-Where am I?" Mallory asked with a dazed expression, confused as she looked about her surroundings and then back at you and Michael.

"Oh thank goodness you're okay, Mallory!" you cried, embracing Mallory in your arms and holding her close to you. You smiled, bringing your lips to her forehead, a gesture of affection that was only the tip of the iceberg. You desired so much more, to leap with joy, to cry and scream and praise Michael because Mallory was awake and alive. You tried to contain yourself, not wanting to overwhelm Mallory so suddenly. "You're safe, you're okay."

"What happened? I-I don't understand," Mallory questioned as she awkwardly returned the hug.

"Michael saved you," you told her, tears staining the shoulder of her dress and you felt as if you never wanted to let her go.

"Thank you, Michael," Mallory said, still baffled about the current situation and in a state of shock. Her lips tilted up in a small relieved smile, it was barely present, to those not familiar with the witch's expressions, it could be easily missed or mistaken for a grimace.

Michael gave a knowing smile and a nod her way.

You pulled back and released a shaky breath as your fingers trailed up to the undamaged side of her face, stroking gently across her cheek and up into her hair. The familiar motion reassured you that this was real and Mallory was still by your side, still in your life, breathing, with that infectiously delightful smile that beamed brighter than the sun.

Her eyes fluttered shut as she tilted her head into the touch, nestling her cheek against your palm as she released a less raspy breath. Your hands continued their gentle stroking motions through her hair, combing across her scalp as you felt the warmth of her presence and admired the spirit that burned within, a fire that was uniquely Mallory.

It was a shocking turn of events. In the erased timeline, Michael wanted to kill Mallory, he was going to kill her. He wanted to kill all the witches, burn every last one of them, but here he was, saving one, bringing a witch back to life. You looked back at Michael, with nothing but love and adoration in your eyes. He was rebelling against his genetic code, resisting what others believed was in his DNA. He was the spawn of Satan, but all you could see right now was an angel of light. Someone who wasn't just trying to be good, but rather was just simply good. You had never been so proud.

When you and Michael returned to the academy with Mallory with you, Cordelia was shocked to see you back so soon. But that wasn't the only thing that shocked her. She wanted to know the full story.

"What happened? How did she die in the first place?" Cordelia asked after you had told her that Michael brought her back.

You were about to tell her the truth, that you ran her over (accidentally), that you were the reason she was kissed by Death itself, but then Michael spoke up.

"We were driving away from the academy when we saw that a car was speeding and the driver hit her. The driver hit her and then drove off," Michael lied.

"Did you see who the driver was?" Cordelia asked, raising her brows.

"No, we didn't see the driver. We just knew Mallory needed help," Michael continued to lie.

"Is this true?" Cordelia turned to you, looking at you with a perplexed expression.

"Yes, it's true," you lied, too.

"Mallory? Do you remember anything?" Cordelia questioned.

"The last thing I remember is trying to give her back her bag because she had forgotten it and the rest is all a blur. I just know that Michael saved me. If it wasn't for him, I would be a goner," Mallory turned to look up at Michael with a warm smile and he returned it. "My head feels like a ton of bricks, though."

Mallory had no recollection of what happened. That was a good thing and probably for the best, for your sake.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Cordelia said, rushing over to Mallory to wrap her arms around her securely. "Thank you, Michael, for bringing her back," she told Michael.

"I'm glad I was able to. It was all because of you, Cordelia, you're the one we all should be thanking. You're the one who was able to help me and in turn, I was able to help Mallory," Michael explained.

Cordelia nodded, processing his words and taking it all in.

You and Michael exchanged a look when nobody was looking. You two were in the same boat now, lying to protect the other.

Cordelia allowed Michael back into the academy.

Cordelia tried harder this time. Because the warlock who saved the exceptional witch Mallory deserved a second chance. She decided that maybe she shouldn't have been so quick to give up on him. There was light, humanity in Michael, and he certainly proved it when he saved Mallory.

Cordelia continued to coach him, teaching him the laws and the ways of magic, how to harness the light inside of him, how to help those in need. Michael had followed her advice to a T, he was under her supervision, paying close attention to anything having to do with the craft and how to channel his magic ability for good.

You could see the light in his eyes whenever he performed a spell that he learned from Cordelia, how it filled him with joy. You were proud of him, so very proud. You had turned things around and it was working in his favor. He was deemed a hero by all the witches now. They believed he belonged here. He was a part of their coven. Even the witches who had disapproved of him before wanted him around all of a sudden. He earned their trust.

He was flourishing at the academy, even more so than before, because this time Cordelia wasn't going to give up on him. He was completely in his element and Cordelia loved to watch him work. His movements were always grateful, fluent, and extraordinary. He was a sight to be seen, excelling in any task that was given to him. She believed in him. She saw his potential. She wanted to beckon him into the light.

Many months passed, and Cordelia found that the darkness inside of him was diminishing, to the point where she could hardly recognize that it was even there, just barely, close to nonexistent, which was a miracle in itself.

"Now that you can feel your magic, I want you to grab it and channel it. Feel it course through you and send it towards your hands. Feel it form and mold it to whatever you wish," Cordelia coached.

Michael would always do as Cordelia instructed, somehow he had become the perfect student.

He felt settled, glowing with Cordelia's compliments and regard. And for the first time, he truly felt like his feet were walking a path that was his own.

Some witches even looked to him for guidance, he knew more than any witch in the building when it came to the art of magic, and while some simply believed they shouldn't ask for help from a man, there were plenty of witches that wanted to learn from him.

Cordelia approached you one day with a bright smile on her face. "I wanted to personally thank you for bringing Michael here. He's been doing really well," she told you.

You nodded your head and listened with a proud grin.

"He saved Mallory. She's a very extraordinary witch and I couldn't imagine this coven without her, and it's all thanks to Michael why she's still here," Cordelia started. "I wanted to give my most sincerest apologies for the day I told you that Michael couldn't stay here. I was wrong. I should have tried harder. But I'm so glad to have him back, to have both of you back."

"Me too," you replied. "Thank you Cordelia, for everything," you said, a slight quaver to your voice, reaching your hands out and clasping them over her own.

"And thank you," Cordelia returned proudly. "Thank you for everything you've done for this coven."

You were doing it. You were saving the Antichrist. It was possible. Things were looking up. You hadn't felt this happy in quite some time. You could have Michael. You two could be together. He didn't have to die like Mallory and Cordelia previously believed. The world didn't have to end. Michael didn't have to endure the horrors of the Murder House. Michael wasn't raised by your Satanic mother and exposed to all that devilry. You were able to take that all back and still be with Michael.

Michael was being good. He was good. He was no longer the Antichrist, but a man that cared for you, a man that loved you.

The sunlight filtered in through the slivers of space left by the curtains as the material fluttered away with the breeze. Michael curled in on himself as the slight chill passed through the room. His brows furrowed in sleep, arms instinctively tightening around something warm and plush and solid that brought him comfort and peace.

He shivered from beneath the blanket, tugging whatever warmth was in his grasp even closer to his chest.

The small squeak that sounded off in his ear, however, sleepy and amused, made him groan more, the world starting to come into a hazy kind of focus, still all too blurry at the edges. His fingers dug into the softness of what he was holding, resulting in a small giggling and a "Michael," that was more affectionate than anything else.

You and Michael were staying at a hotel to get away for the weekend. Michael wanted to spend some time away with you and you were more than happy to oblige him.

He pressed himself nearer to you, reveling in your heat. You tugged on his hair slightly, calling his name out with the syllables stretched as though to bring him to the waking world, and he shook his head, denying the inevitable.

It was a losing battle. His eyes fluttered open, immediately settling into a squint. He made a sleepy sound in the back of his throat as he tucked his head down, hiding away from the world, and you giggled once more, your hands stroking down his spine.

"C'mon, sleepy. Rise and shine," you said, all the while lifting your chin so he had room to nuzzle beneath your jaw, closing his eyes to the morning, basking in the comfort of your body. After a few moments you stood up from the bed and started to pick up your clothes from the floor, slipping your panties back on, but once Michael realized what you were doing, he yanked you back to the bed with an arm hooked around your waist, snuggling with you once more.

"Get back here," he mumbled out, somewhat playfully, making you laugh. "Ten more minutes," he bargained, but he found that he had already awakened, his mind starting to chug along. He started to run his hands over your skin, more interested in lazing in bed for a few moments than rising from the warm cocoon of comforter and multiple pillows. One of your legs, silky and bare was dragging up his calf, as though to tease, before you nudged him.

"We need to be at the academy soon," you informed him, arching when he let his fingers play over your lower back, ghosting his nails over your skin.

"Let's just not go, let's just stay here," was the only solution he offered, finding that he much rather stay with you on the bed and be lazy.

Your hands ran over his shoulders and he hummed, remembering how the nails bit in the night before, the way you bucked and had to use him as leverage. His smirk stretched across his face and he pressed his cheek against your neck, nuzzling. He felt like jelly, relaxed and warm and comfortable, and he supposed you must have felt the aftereffects of the natural release of endorphins, too, because you only shook your head, saying "Michael," more in amusement than exasperation.

Slowly, he shuffled downward, settling his ear against your breast and cataloging your heartbeat as he brought his palms lower, cupping your ass. You hummed, squirming slightly as his hair tickled your jaw, but you seemed to cuddle to him, one of your legs between his, the other pressed against his outer thigh. Slowly, you let one hand tangle in his hair, playing with the messy strands, and he moaned lowly as he kneaded your flesh, arching like a cat and nuzzling between your breasts. He felt comfortable, at peace, happy, and he rubbed his cheek against the softness of you, particularly enjoying the cushion of your chest.

You smiled and started to rub a small circle between his shoulder blades. "Someone's affectionate this morning," you commented, yelping when he squeezed your ass, pulling you to his frame.

"I'm just happy, happy to be with you," he replied, his mouth muffled by your skin, and you tipped your head back as he ran his hands over your thighs, stroking over you, warming you up before settling his hands on your backside once more, fingers digging in slightly.

He wanted to be close to you, near in multiple ways. In every way. He just wanted to be with you, to hold you. He felt your warm exhale move some of his hair and he could note how you were breathing against him, your plush, soft frame pressed so flush to his skin that he could feel your lungs expanding, pushing your ribs out slightly.

He knew you were smiling without even having to look up, even as he set a kiss to your sternum, feeling you stroking over his arm. Your naked form against his was a reminder of what you two had done the night before.

His eyebrows went up and he finally looked at your face, chest warming at the serene expression he witnessed, and you scratched at his scalp as you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Someone's affectionate this morning," he threw at you, almost dryly, but he knew you could see the slightest gleam in his eyes because your smile grew.

"I'm just happy, happy to be with you," you responded, giggling even as he smirked, rolling you onto your back and coming over you in a straddle.

"That so?" he asked, untangling your legs and settling onto his knees, one between your thighs and the other trapping your left leg.

"Mmmm," you hummed, fluttering your eyes closed.

His smirk softened as he looked at you, first at your face, planting a kiss upon your forehead. When he pulled back, it was just enough so that his eyes could skim over your bare form, previously obscured to him by the blanket wrapped around you both. He was looking over each mouth-shaped bruise on your body, the marks he left behind on your delicate skin, on your collarbones, the tops of your breasts, wanting them to always serve as little reminders that you were his.

"Mine," he said, kissing over your side, leaving a burning trail as he worked up to your breasts. "All mine."

The kiss over your head was more delicate than the rest, and his hand had slowed down to a butterfly of a touch, slowly circling your damp flesh, considerably further south. You arched against him, grinding down on his fingers to entice more friction, asking for sweet mercy.

"Oh god, Michael, stop teasing!"

He smiled wider at the memory, lowering his lips to your throat where a particularly dark hickey was marking your carotid artery. He'd suck at the flesh atop it particularly hard when he was losing himself in you, he remembered, feeling each quickening thump of your pulse on his tongue had undid him. You sucked in a sharp breath when he kissed it, and he could feel your heartbeat growing faster as a result. His knee gently ground against you and your hands came up to his shoulders once more, nails biting in, so familiar.

Slowly, pulling away once again, he hovered over you, supporting his weight on his knees, which forced him to grind against you all the harder. Your body thrummed in pleasure, your temperature rising as he smiled down at you, purposefully stopping all motion. He watched as your brows furrowed, your eyes fluttering open, confusion and irritation evident in your orbs.

"Michael?" you asked, raising a brow, and he only shifted his smile into a twisted smirk.

"Angel? Don't we need to be at the academy, soon?" he threw back, echoing your morning greeting. Instead of huffing, as he expected you to, you brought one of your sinfully soft legs up to drag against his other thigh, hitching it higher and higher until your foot pressed into his lower back and you tugged him closer to you, grinning.

"Ten more minutes," you bargained, your head lowering slightly as you kissed him on the nose, running your hands over his body, drumming your fingers against his rib cage and then down, down, down, until you grabbed his ass, grinding against him.

He groaned, tilting his head to meet you at a better angle. "Let's just stay here," he insisted once more.

When you kissed him, biting at his lower lip, he assumed that this time you agreed.

His fingers started stroking the smooth skin of your stomach and you arched up to him, to his touch. You let out a soft cry when he pulled away from the kiss, resting his forehead on your own. He smirked, taking note of how swollen your lips had gotten, shining and moist.

With the radiance of the sun outside, your body was glowing. It was that tinge to your skin that guided his hands, lazily drawing out words on your skin, even as he bent his head to lick the line of your exposed, vulnerable throat, which you bared to him so easily.

He felt your contented hum against his lips as he laved down to where your collarbones dipped. You could feel his smirk as he trailed his mouth down, smug at the fact that you were squirming, trying to get more than just a brush of his lips over your hot skin. You wiggled beneath him as he left red marks on your breasts and especially between them, listening to your moans.

He cupped one breast as he licked at the other, circling around your areola and softly sucking. You arched into his mouth and he pinched your nipple, making you jump. When he noted your shivers, he rubbed your side as though to keep you warm. He smirked while he made his way downward, slowly licking a line toward your navel.

He slowly lowered his head and laid a kiss on your hip, stroking you. When his nose bumped your hip bone, he made sure to take a deep inhale before he bit down slowly until you bucked.

Michael sucked on the skin of your hip bones, lightly scraping his teeth until you whimpered, stroking his hair. You whispered out his name, rubbing his scalp and he closed his eyes to your affections, his breath hot on your flesh.

"You're so perfect," he whispered hoarsely. "So beautiful."

You sucked in a harsh gasp at his words, and he noted how your thighs rubbed together, slightly. He dipped his head so he could kiss along your waist, his fingers gently rubbing invisible shapes into your skin, making your tender ministrations falter.

"Michael," you murmured, and something in your voice had changed, gotten more ragged. He hid his smirk by moving his lips down to the line where your skin was hidden to him by fabric. His touch went up to your sternum, tracing the underside of your exposed breasts.

He looked up, once more and you stared down, the warm flush over your face deepening. You took in another jagged breath and he was ready to open his mouth and tell you that you smelled amazing. With how turned on you were, already, he didn't have a hard time catching your scent considering all you had between you two was a pair of thin white panties.

There was something hot and natural about it, about you, and he thought he could find himself between your legs for longer than most would deem appropriate, already looking forward to seeing you unravel around him. He had begun gently scraping your skin with his fingernails, barely butterflies of touch, but it made you shiver, and when you moved to cup his face, he found himself leaning into your touch.

He wanted to see you dazed. Dripping. Able to say nothing but his name.

Michael made sure to lift his face enough to show you his smirk and he dragged his hands down your sides. Still holding your gaze, he kissed the underside of your thighs, before he gently bit down. With a sly hand, he lightly stroked you through the thin cloth off your panties and you jolted at the feeling, shivering with how sensitive you were.

He brought a forearm to the back of your knees and he sucked on the flesh, leaving mouth-shaped bruises over your legs, dragging his tongue from one to the next as he made his way to your pelvis. You were crying out softly, legs kept in the air, hips swiveling as though asking for attention. His lips tipped up when he mouthed the inner flesh of your thighs, your eyes looked daze when he spared you a glance, your pupils so blown open. You were arching your back, trying to find more friction since his stroking had gotten firmer: smooth, long motions that teased you through the fabric of your panties. When he stopped the motion, you whined, already having started rocking into his touch. Michael set another kiss to your thighs, atop one of the hickeys he'd left you with, and you whimpered.

He pushed your legs open so the back of your knees came to his shoulders. When he looked up at you, his eyes were strained, but the flush on your face, your mouth open and panting, it was too good of a sight to pass up. With a final smug grin, he lowered his head. You must have thought he was going to remove your panties, perhaps with his teeth, but instead, he gently parted you through your panties, pressing an open mouthed kiss to where your clit was through the underwear, leaving you to gasp at the surprising, blunted sensation.

Dragging it out, he slid his tongue to the spot, saturating it in spit and pressing forward as far as possible through the material to wet you. Your eyes fluttered shut as you panted, taking in the feeling. Pulling away only slightly, Michael blew on the wet spot and saw how you shivered, the white fabric going somewhat transparent from the saliva. He did the same to where your entrance was through the cloth, ignoring the texture of the cotton as the taste of you came through, his tongue applying pressure. He saturated the cloth with spit, pulling back so he could hook his thumbs under the fabric to spread you further.

"Oh!" you squeaked out, feeling yourself open slightly at the motion, throbbing. Even though he couldn't see how you were being gently exposed, the sound you made more than made up for it, and he went back to tongue you through your panties while you clenched your fists, yearning for more direct contact. Almost carelessly, he bunched the fabric and pushed upward, rubbing you with your own panties. You bucked to no avail, since Michael brought his palm to your hip, keeping you immobile. His fingers barely settled over the flesh of your hips, softly rubbing as though to tease you further. You set your hand atop his, your voice coming out high and breathless.

"Please?" you asked, trying to move his touch lower, but he gently pushed your hand away, encircling your wrist and pressed it to the side. The restraint made you cry out while he used his other hand to further move your panties aside, nuzzling you. You made a sobbing sound, arching to his mouth as best as you could. "Please, Michael?"

You could feel his self-satisfied smile as he tilted his head, kissing your labia and carefully swirling his tongue around your entrance, making you gasp, your wrist twisting under his hold. You were so wet because of him, and he made a low, wanting noise when he finally got access to how slick you had gotten. Your sigh was one of relief as he tenderly rolled his tongue against you, seeming to take in the taste of you. He let go of your hand, pulling back only long enough to slip your panties off before sliding his palms beneath you and cupping your ass, pressing his fingers into the soft flesh and enjoying how you squirmed. He carefully tilted your hips up so he had better access.

The scent of you alone had already started to get to him, but having you on his tongue, hot and slippery, was enough to have him throbbing. Your soft sounds in response to what he was doing, circling your entrance before gently sliding his tongue into you, deftly thrusting a few times before going back to swirling around, were getting louder, though it seemed like you were trying to hold down your pleasured sighs. When he glanced up, he saw how you were biting your hand, muffling yourself, and when your eyes met, you seemed to gush. The hand he'd released his hold on came to card through his hair, urging him on.

You were slick, pulsing, and he dragged his tongue over you as slowly as he could, as though memorizing your taste before he found your clit, feeling your jolt. You were so sensitive. His thumb came to your opening, mimicking the motions he'd been maintaining earlier, using your slickness and gently dipping into you as he softly sucked. You wailed, your thighs twitching up and around his ears, your hips circling.

Your panting got faster, the cry sharpening when he only sucked on your flesh harder, licking at you at the same time. His thumb swirled around until he withdrew it, instead slicking up his middle finger and slowly pushing it into you. Your eyes closed, body tensing as he found your sweet spot and rubbed, tapping. You clenched around him when he hummed, as though amused, your body arching up sharply before leaning back, calves twitching each time he stimulated your clit.

You must have been getting close, your voice breaking off. There was nothing in his ears but your light, needy whimpers and drawn out hisses of his name. Your very breath was shuddery, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. At that, he moved his face away, pressing his finger against your walls more firmly.

"Angel," he called, to which you only responded with a high whine, circling your hips more aggressively. "Angel," he said, again, this time more urgently. "Look at me," he demanded.

Your eyes fluttered open and you seemed dazed, but your gaze settled downward to where he was between your legs, still pleasuring you. You moaned when you saw him, panting hard. He locked onto your eyes, kissing your clit before licking at you once more, lips forming a seal and sucking, again. You cried out, throwing your head back, but his fingers dug into the flesh of your ass slightly, as though warning, and you squirmed, forcing yourself to look back at him, maintaining contact.

Looking into his eyes as he pleased you made your toes curl, your voice coming out as a keening whimper. He ran his tongue in circles, matching how you were swiveling your hips, but it was looking at him, how focused he was on your face, how turned on he looked, that made you feel dizzy. Your world narrowed to him and the rising tension in your body, your ankles hooking behind his head. He tilted your hips more and you gasped, brokenly telling him to keep going.

He was tempted to close his eyes, surrender to the overwhelming urge of taking in how you felt. The only thing in his mind was you, your scent in his nose, cries echoing around him, the taste of you seeped in his mouth. And he was so hard, aching for you. You'd abandoned trying to be quiet, and your hand had come to your breasts, playing with your nipples as you panted for him. You were pulsing heavily around his finger, it was as though you never wanted him to leave. He kept it up, though his jaw had started to protest, his wrist likely angry at him come tomorrow. You called out loudly, jaggedly, your "yes!" and whimpered his name in a string of stutters.

As he looked at you, he could see the exact moment when things started to tip over, when you popped your mouth open with a sobbing breath, your body tensing entirely before your legs reared up and your back arched higher. Your hold on his hair tightened but you held his gaze as best as you could, even though your eyes were rolling, head being thrown about. He didn't ease up, all but moaning at the sound of your high pitched wail even as he stimulated you through your orgasm, your trembles continuing for long, drawn out minutes.

He waited until your throbbing softened to flutters before he carefully pulled his finger out of you, instead gently lapping at your opening as you softly called out for him. You made breathy noises, broken squeaks as you squirmed with each swipe of his tongue, and he finally allowed his eyes to close as he laved over you. Your hips bucked as he licked you clean and he released his hold on your ass, instead soothing the outside of your thighs with hands that only knew how to destroy, before.

When you weakly pushed at him, still so hypersensitive to touch, he pulled away, and his damp face caught the cool breeze. When you looked at each other again, your expression was vulnerable and open. He kissed each of your hip bones as he made his way back up to you, your legs coming off his shoulders and back to the ground with a thump. Slowly, he brushed his lips over your stomach, each bump of your rib cage, between your sternum, until he got to the hollow of your throat, scraping his teeth over your collarbones. You made a muffled squeal when he worried the skin between his teeth, leaving a mark, and then kissed over the line of your throat until he was finally back at your face.

You were so close to each other, he could have gone cross-eyed. You were still breathing hard, and your arm came around him, almost bonelessly.

"Oh, god," you said, and he realized that you'd been whispering it the entire time, still dazed from your orgasm.

He couldn't help the smirk that played on his lips at that. Frankly, he didn't know when you got so religious. He cupped the back of your neck, bringing the finger that was still wet with you to your lips and tracing over your cupid's bow. You shivered, but you were pliant, your eyelashes batting at him without meaning to. There was still a heavy flush over your face, your shoulders: you were flushed from throat to knees, the deepened hue collecting most prominently over your hips.

You were still puffy.

Still grinning, he dipped his head down, kissing you and licking your lips. You made a low sound at the action, opening your mouth to him immediately and he shared your taste with you. It was heady and he had barely pulled away from eating you out, but being reminded of how you tasted immediately made him want to go back, listen to you lose yourself because of him, cum because of him. You were so strong you could decimate whole buildings to rubble, could argue your way out of each fight, and he'd turned your eloquence into an incoherent babble, calling out for him and his hands and his mouth.

He bumped his nose against your own, pulling away enough that he could look at you but still so close you were sharing breath. He pulled you closed to him, and when you breathed out, "Oh, god," again, he was tempted to joke that he preferred 'Michael'. Instead, he only rubbed his thumb behind your ear, kissing the corner of your mouth as you collected yourself. Then he grabbed you around the waist with his arm so he could being you closer to the head of the bed, straddling you. You bent your knees so he could settle between them, lifting your neck and pulling him toward you so you could kiss him. He licked your lip, and when you opened your mouth for him, he knew you could taste yourself on his tongue.

You lifted your hips, rubbing against him and feeling his erection press into your thigh. You made a pleased noise, lowering yourself enough to grasp him, and deepening the kiss while you adjusted yourself until he was positioned at your opening. You sucked on his upper lip for a moment before you pulled away, blinking at him. His hand came to your cheek, still damp fingertips caressing your skin.

You gave him a look, as if silently asking if he was ready. He nodded, bracing himself before you let him inside of you, your eyes fluttering shut when the head sunk in. From there he could do the rest, and he pushed into you, watching you to see how you wanted it.

He maintained deep, rhythmic motions, slow to the point of strain, but you were whimpering, enjoying the feeling of him taking his time, building you up. He brought his mouth to your neck, sucking at the delicate skin there while you massaged his back. He was sweating with the effort, going so slow it made his head spin. You clenched around him purposefully, and the breath he took in was shaky and harsh, his eyes hazy and mind fogged. You wrapped your arms around him and wiggled your hips as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, cradling your cheek while he supported himself on an elbow. He ran his other hand down your side, over your hip, sliding it underneath you so he could cup your ass.

Your eyes opened, locking on him again when he didn't stop, instead, trailing the underside of your thigh until he hit the back of your knee, purposefully tickling the sensitive flesh. You squirmed around, which felt more than a little amazing, but he didn't let up until you were giggling at the sensations and it made him smile.

You stroked the back of his neck while he rubbed the side of your knee with his thumb for a moment, hitching your leg up and around him. You shifted, helping him to bring it higher until your ankle was against his lower back.

He started to circle his hips and you bucked as he angled up. The serene expression on your face gave way to pleasure, warming him, which only intensified when you brought your other leg up, your silky skin rubbing over his flesh until that one, too, wrapped around him. When he looked down at you, you were just so vulnerable, your head tossed back while he rocked in you, throat exposed and breasts bouncing with each movement. He finally let go of your knee in order to pull back, slightly, enough to slide his hand between them until his fingers parted you, again, gently stroking your clit. You gasped, your hold on him tightening while you clenched in response and he laved over your collarbones, thrusting into you. You throbbed around him when he angled higher, forward and up, as though to inform without words that, yes, there.

"How is that?" he asked, already losing composure, hips stuttering. You were swollen and soft, wet and warm and so good around him, and when he lowered his gaze further, seeing how the flush collected over your hips. You nodded frantically at his question and he rubbed you a little harder, which prompted an uninhibited "mmm" followed by a "Yes!" that was so high and delicate, he could do nothing but kiss you again, still caressing your cheek.

You two were breathing together as a single entity by the time he was fully sheathed. He rested there for a moment, quiet as you two held each other.

Where he was fire, you were ice, but in this, you two came together in a perfect sort of harmony. You were everything Michael has never been, wearing your heart on your sleeve and fighting for the good of all those around you, and perhaps it was what drew him to you in the first place. You came to him when he was broken, defeated by his own mistakes and sins, and it had only been through your hand – your careful touch, your patience, your faith in him that he had begun to heal.

Now he held you, half of his entire world. The woman who completed him and made up for everything he lacked; the one he never thought he deserved. In your arms, he felt safe in a way he never does anywhere else in the world.

He slid a hand under your shoulder while the other rested on your hip, making sure he had a proper hold before he started to move again. The slow slide out from your warmth nearly did him in, but he held on tight and thrusts his hips forward again, making a low sound as you moaned again. He set a brutal pace, and he kept close, intent on holding you through the whole thing.

Things were always blurry in these moments, as the two of you were reduced to your most basic forms; a man and a woman, locked together in an intimate moment. Flesh slipping against sweat-slick flesh; fingers leaving bruises in delicate skin; quiet, visceral noises punched out of you both as you moved together, quickly finding a rhythm where you worked as one, fused at your centres.

Michael leaned down and claimed your mouth in a wet and sloppy open-mouthed kiss, his tongue sliding over yours as he kept moving. Your eyes fell shut and you moaned into it, the edges of your mind going pleasantly hazy and blank.

His hands writhed as they gripped your hips, and your fingernails trailed down the tightly flexed line of his spine to catch at his waist, hesitant and pleasing, and that was all it took for him to unravel. His control frayed and split and he couldn't rein in the violent cant of his hips, rocking into the cradle of your thighs hard enough to push you both up the bed. His heart half in his mouth, scared that he would frightened you with the fury of his desire. Powerless to stop himself all the same.

He should have known by now that you were anything but afraid of him.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him and welcomed and weathered the storm of him like you always did, taking in everything he was. The food with the bad, the beautiful with the scarred. The realization swept him away. Tumbled him over and over like a shell caught in the tide, polishing away all the rough edges of his doubts and fears and left him clutching a beautiful, perfect truth.

When he spoke he whispered, as if he was sharing a secret, "I love you," he intoned, his mouth traveling across your cheek to your jaw, down your neck and over your throat. "I love you," he repeated, stroking a harsh counterpoint to each gentle word as you fluttered around him.

Your eyes flew wide, and your lips parted – perhaps on a response, but he didn't give you the luxury of one. He surged forward on another hard thrust and caught your mouth, hips and tongue undulating softly in mimicry of each other. He was drowning in your soft wet heat, everything about you taut and lax and satin and harsh, all at the same time.

You met his every move halfway, your body bowing beneath him, clinging to his back and shoulders tightly as he clung to you. As if the other were the only shelter in this tempest you two unleashed together. Your fingernails raked down his skin that rang through his blood as he strained deeper, chasing the released that roiled within him, watching as you bloomed, blossomed, unfurled with your pending crescendo. The smell of your lovemaking was intoxicating, the heat enough to make you feel faint.

He sped up, losing rhythm as everything in his mind narrowed just to you and the feeling of the head of his cock brushing the particularly swollen part inside you. You wailed, your thighs hitching higher around him, adjusting your angle enough so that he was hitting the mark perfectly. You choked out "Harder!" against his lips, squeaking when he complied.

His rubbing was getting frantic, but you were pulsing around him, hard, the fluttering getting faster and faster, calling his name out, entire body in spasms as you threw your head side to side, climaxing around him. The rush of his seed, throb of his cock, and sound of his shattered moans were enough to bring you over the edge once more, and you clung to him with all your remaining strength to ride out the sensation. His hips slowed to a shuddering standstill, cock rooted deep inside.

Together you wrecked each other, crashing back to earth in a glorious fall, the fluttering of your walls around him squeezing him and wrenching a hoarse cry from his mouth as he jerked haphazardly, spilling his pleasure in your depths. He pushed into you once more, deep, and your walls thrummed over the entirety of his cock until he followed you, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder, mouthing at a hickey he'd made earlier to muffle his moans of your name, his hand finally stilling. His head was spinning, eyes rolled into the back of his head as he panted, trying to catch his breath as he twitched.

It took a while for him to come down from his high, but even when he did, it seemed as though you were still working your way through your own, shaking. He couldn't help the pride that swelled at that, that you were still clutching him, arms and legs holding him tight as though he were your only buoy. You trembled, making involuntary squeaks and whimpering fragments of his name, eyes clenched shut.

Michael's whole body just wanted to collapse forward, boneless, but he ran kisses over your neck, the warmth of his breath caressing your breasts and laving over the tops until you were settled, and he pulled out when your breathing evened, your legs falling from around him.

The strength leached from his muscles, and with a last effort he held himself up a trembling arm, wrapping the other around you to roll onto his back, drawing you with him and arranging you atop his chest.

With a tiny, contented sigh you burrowed closer and laid your cheek over his thundering heart, your hair pouring over his rib cage and arms like a bolt of damp satin, and he found his fingers buried in the fall of it, stroking the smooth strands again and again. Lingering in this strange moment outside of time, measured by the warm curl of air that washed over his sweat-damp skin each time you exhaled. Your eyes closed and idly you stroked his thick head of hair, and the corner of your mouth curled up in a small smile as your heartbeats seemed to synchronized, steady and even.

He was half-asleep when you stirred, shifting to press your lips to his collarbone. One kiss turning to two, to three – until you'd braided together a length of them that seemed to tug at something deep, deep within himself. Slipping yourself around him with a few murmured words that knotted tight, bound yourself to him inextricably.

"I love you too," Michael."

"Of course you do," he scoffed, proud that his voice managed to come out steady, and he felt your shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

Tenderly, he guided your face to the crook of his neck and you nuzzled at him. He closed his eyes, settling your body against his more firmly. It was so quiet when you were here. And he had gotten so sick of noise.

You laid the most loving kiss onto his throat, and though he found it difficult to trust almost anyone, his body instinctively bared to you, chin lifting up to make room. You smiled, moving your hands up his chest until you could feel his heart beating. You sighed almost dreamily, at peace as you two shared body heat.

It wasn't long until you two went at it, again, and again and again and again.

Many hours had passed and you were passed out on the bed. Michael was still awake, watching you sleep, watching the way your chest heaved up and down, watching the way your lips parted, watching the way you would curl up closer to him. It would all make Michael smile. He was content, happy. It felt like everything was going right.

He was lost in a daydream when there was a loud knock on the door.

Michael rolled out of bed, albeit reluctantly, slipping his clothes on quickly before reaching the front door and opening it.

There stood Miriam Mead, Anton LaVey, and another cardinal. A group of Satanists.

The crows were singing, worshiping from above.

They introduced themselves to Michael before bowing down.

"I'm in the presence of my Lord," Anton said, in complete and utter awe.

"We've been waiting for you. We're here to help," Miriam said with a sinister grin.

Michael looked them over curiously.

Little did you know, Michael, your sweet, sweet Michael, had killed Tyler. Michael killed him shortly after he left, in the early hours of the night when you had finally fallen asleep.

Unbeknownst to you, Michael went to threaten him, in his house, and even as Tyler squirmed and writhed to get away, even as Tyler begged for mercy, Michael wanted to hurt him, to make him truly sorry.

"You're never going to see her again, you hear me?" Michael threatened. "You're no good for her. You're only going to hurt her."

He started by choking him, but that quickly escalated and he couldn't help himself. He wanted to see him suffer. He reveled in the way his face contorted in pain and misery.

"You're pathetic. She doesn't want you anymore. There's nothing you can do for her. You can't make her happy like I can," Michael spat.

He didn't want there to be even a sliver of a chance of him returning and bothering you again or you crawling back to him. He needed to find a permanent way to get rid of him, for good.

Michael watched him burn, cry and scream as he flailed with the dancing, merciless flames that consumed him whole. Michael permanently expelled his soul from existence.

Little did you know, your sweet, sweet Michael was already gone, long before you could even do anything about it.

Perhaps it was always true. He was a prophesied abomination. The bringer of the end times. Satan's son.

Michael was created by evil. It was in his genetic code, in his blood, in his DNA. He couldn't stray away from the darkness. A leopard cannot change its spots. The Devil would somehow always reach him, one way or another. There was no escaping it. Michael truly wanted to be good. He tried to be good. It was a sad truth, unfortunate too, because a halo would have perfectly matched Michael's angelic beauty, but the reality was that inevitably his horns were going to sprout up from his head. The Mark of the Beast was permanently tattooed onto his scalp, always serving as a reminder of his true nature. Michael would always fall victim of the Devil's plan for him. The game had been rigged in his favor. It wasn't possible for you to reverse that.

You should have remembered that even the Devil was once an angel.

You shifted upon the bed in the sheets, opening your eyes to look over at Michael through heavy-lidded eyes. His back was facing you and he was still standing at the doorway.

"Who is it, Michael?" you slurred, your voice soft and unsuspecting.

"Nobody, just room service. Go back to bed, angel, I'll be right there," Michael told you, turning back to look at you.

"Okay," you said, rolling back on the other side of the bed and closing your eyes, thinking nothing of it, and wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Little did you know that your mother and her fellow Satanists were outside the hotel.

Michael turned back around to the Satanists at his doorstep who were anticipating an answer from him, their eyes hopeful and full of awe.

Michael smiled knowingly.


End file.
